The Princess and the Man in the High Castle
by happycat12
Summary: A story of a girl who can't be a Princess and the man who can't love her
1. Chapter 1

_So I have been watching the series The Man in the High Castle on Amazon which is great and I_ _recommend viewing it if you haven't seen it (its free if you sign up for an Amazon Prime trial, if you don't want to pay be sure to cancel your subscription before the free trial expires)._

 _This story is inspired by that story line._

 _If you haven't seen it is set in the early 1960s but assumed that Germany and Japan won the war and divided up the world between them. The UK would be occupied by the Nazis and America was split between the Nazis and Japan with a neutral zone in the middle._

* * *

 _Southhampton, England, 22 June 1961_

She checked her watch. 5.45.

Right about now, dawn should be breaking.

It should be, but down by the port there was a chill in the air and one of the strange mists from the sea which plagued the coastal harbour at any time of the year, even occasionally in high summer, sat heavy across the city.

In a matter or an hour, she would wager from experience that it would clear and a fine sunny day would greet Southhampton's inhabitants.

Which meant that she should hurry.

She furtively checked behind her, and then stole a glance to her left and right.

Walking three quick steps she made her way to the old stone wall, then lifted one of the loose bricks and slipped a note underneath it, taking care to place it back carefully so that no trace of paper could be seen.

A few paces back and then she picked up and righted her bicycle and slid onto the seat.

A minute later, she had vanished back into the anonymity of the city's streets, the mist closing back in after her.

* * *

Jasper Frost gave it a good three minutes once she left until he made his way towards the wall.

The mist provided good cover that morning, and he'd flattened himself behind a nearby wall until he was sure she'd made the drop and seen her exit.

It took a few minutes of searching before he found the right brick and extracted the note, the slid it into his pocket.

He knew who the girl was. Not her name, but what she did. And in his opinion she wasn't a good choice for a courier.

It wasn't that she was incompetent. But the only thing a courier should be was invisible. Invisible. Anonymous. And entirely forgettable.

And whoever she was, she was _not_ forgettable.

Swift and discreet - _yes_. Intriguing - _yes_. Beautiful – _yes_. Forgettable – _no._

He strode back away from the port and over to the pub across the street where he'd parked his car.

Once he'd pulled open the door, he dug his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope containing a pile of photos.

He sorted through the pile carefully until he found the one he wanted.

The slight girl with the dark hair and the green eyes. In the absence of knowing her real name, he'd scribbled something on the back of her photo to help him remember her.

He folded the photo of 'baby doll' back into the rest of the pictures and slipped the envelope back into his coat. It was time to get the hell out of here, he had things to do.

* * *

She filled the kettle and then placed it onto the stovetop, warming her fingers near its warmth.

There was a time, not too many months ago, when she would never have even been awake at this time of day, let alone have managed to cycle right the way across the city and back before breakfast.

In a way nothing had changed in those few months, and yet for her everything had changed.

She still lived at the same address, she was still at arts student. Still 22. Still an orphan, adopted by one Mr James Hill, with a seven year old sister called Sarah Alice.

Yes there was money still, not much left considering what had been, but enough for the little luxuries.

But she no longer spent her days partying her time away fuelled by booze and poor decisions about men.

Now she had a purpose and her purpose was to find out what had happened to the person who meant the most to her in the world, the person she still called Robbie, even if he called himself Richard and made her do the same. And, if it was as she suspected that her (not) brother had died fighting the Reich unlawfully occupying her country then she was determined to fight them and make them pay so that they would suffer the way that she had suffered.

Because she, the girl who wasn't (couldn't be, never was, on pain of death) Eleanor Henstridge, who wasn't one of the last surviving members of a British Royal Family who didn't officially exist anymore, knew that King Simon hadn't willingly abdicated to allow the Fuhrer in his wisdom to lead the British people and Empire.

She knew that he _hadn't_ been unfulfilled after his abdication and had decided to take his own life. She knew that he had in fact been suffocated in his bed one cold, dark winter night.

She knew that his three children hadn't been relocated to re-education camps in Germany but had been smuggled out of the Palace on her father's orders to be spirited away by loyal family servants to be brought up in secret in remote parts of their country.

She knew everything.

And in this world, knowledge was a dangerous thing to have – if you wanted to live.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for your reviews, if you want to watch the series some of the references might make more sense to you, but you can probably still enjoy it either way._

 _Southhampton, England, 6 July 1961_

The woman officially known as Clare Hill sits at a small breakfast bar in a cramped flat in Southhampton scrutinising a map of England.

There are three crosses marked on the map.

The first cross is Bristol which is where 25 year old Richard (Robbie) Wilson was residing until four and half months ago.

The second cross is for Bath which is where he was last seen at one of the city's train stations at a covert meeting in a small café.

The third cross is at Minehead in northern Cornwall which is the site of Lager Watchet, one of the many prisons which dot the Reich, where political dissidents can be detained without trial interminably.

Two days ago, Birdie, one of her resistance contacts informed her that it was possible that her brother was housed at the Lager (Prison camp) and that they were considering making a plan to try to break out half a dozen inmates.

It's early days but she is one of several resistance fighters laying the groundwork for a possible escape.

She stares at the map intently and then runs her finger along the railway line from Watchet to Southhampton.

 _Oh Robbie_ , she thinks, _what are they doing to you?_

And she can't supress the shudder which runs down her spine at the throught of her brother being beaten, interrogated and tortured.

Her eyes mist over with tears, but she wipes them away with one swift motion, then writes down the distance in the small notebook by her side.

 _We'll get you out, I promise_ , she vows.

* * *

Jasper's taken to spending his time scrolling through the shelves of a musty second hand bookshop on the corner of Queen Street.

It's not that he likes books, or bookshops. He's not a reader. Never was.

It's the clientele which frequents the bookshop he's interested in.

The bookshop has three staff who sit behind the counter. One is an older man, in his seventies who is the owner. Even at his advanced age he is behind the counter Mondays to Wednesdays and Fridays during the daytime.

Then there is a bookish girl in her late teens, with mousy brown hair and glasses who comes in on Friday evenings and Saturday.

Sundays and Thursdays the person he is most interested in sits behind the counter. A young man, early twenties maybe, with wavy blond hair, clear blue eyes and an earnest expression.

The first time he came in he greeted him with a welcoming smile and asked if he could help find him anything.

Since he first came in three weeks ago, he's collected four books on cars, two books on wine and three books on the art of sales. None of them wanted or read.

During his seven visits to the bookshop, he's struck up a friendship with the young man behind the counter who introduced himself as William. He's learnt that he's studying to be a vet, and works here part time to earn a little income.

But it's not William he's interested in, it's the girl that comes to visit him. The same dark haired beauty who made the drop and who he's been watching, covertly, these past three weeks.

She's been into the bookstore twice now. It's clear that she has about as much interest in books as he does. Instead she comes to visit the boy behind the counter and they sit together chatting as customers come and go, young and old, buying or just browsing.

The second time she visits he's in the store too and he's familiar enough to William to earn an introduction. He introduces her as his friend Clare Hill.

The third time he visits he has a head start on her when he sees her leave the house and has slipped into his car and has made it to the book store well and is ensconced in the foreign travel section well before the bell tinkles as the door opens to announce her arrival.

By now he's had enough time to study her and William together, both inside the bookshop and inside her flat where he watches them with a pair of binoculars, and ponder their relationship. At first he though he was her boyfriend, but now he's decided they are just close friends.

So, once William invites him over to chat to Clare it doesn't take him too long before he casually suggests that if she's not doing anything she might like to join him for a drink at the local pub.

He's never had to work too hard to pull, and this time is not exception. She accepts his offer and a short while after he's plying her with drinks and laying on the charm.

And everything is going _exactly_ according to plan.

* * *

It's near six in the morning when he wakes in an unfamiliar room. He looks over to his right and the girl is still sleeping, one slender arm rests atop of the duvet, and her dark hair tumbles across the pillow, partially obscuring her delicate features.

He likes it when he can mix business with pleasure and that was what last night was.

But now, it is time to concentrate on the business side of things. He extracts himself from the bed, careful not to disturb her and silently pads across the room, stepping over the silk dress and underwear that is scattered on the floor.

He grabs his coast and trousers and quickly scans the flat then makes his way to a cupboard, opening it and looking inside.

There is nothing of interest there and he quickly moves on, bending to look at the pile of things under the table.

When he finds a notebook, the scribbles names and locations inside are of sufficient interest that he grabs the small camera that was in his coat jacket and snaps pictures of the writings, then places it back where it was.

Obergruppenfuhrer Wahler will definitely be interested in that, he thinks to himself.

He's decided not to think of the girl in the next room, and what might happen to her if her writings turn out to be _of interest_ to his boss.

This way of life was never a choice for him, but a necessity.

After six years working scams in casinos and high society in America's East coast he'd finally pushed his luck too far and been sprung by the law.

Unfortunately for him, the Reich had no tolerance for criminals, and they along with the racially undesirable, faced execution, so that their flawed genetic defects could not be passed on to another generation.

He had come to close to death. Felt it whisper his name.

But then the day before his execution, an SS officer had breezed into his cell and announced that he had a job for him, and if he accepted he would spare his life. He'd even dangled another carrot in front of him and said that if he served the Reich for three years satisfactorily, he'd receive a shiny new passport and a ticket to South America.

Of course he'd accepted, even if it meant working for an empire whose vision he didn't share and entrusting his life to a stranger he didn't know. Because when the alternative was certain death – was there even really a choice at all?

He strolled across the room and opened the door to a small cupboard. Dresses and coats were hung up on the rack, with shoes stashed haphazardly on the floor, amongst messy piles of drawings and art supplies. A jewelled necklace peeked out from under some coloured pencils.

He pulled it out and examined it carefully. Real emeralds set in 24 carat gold. _Who was_ this girl because an arts student and an adopted orphan shouldn't have been in possession of something of that quality.

He shoved the dresses aside and delved into the back of the closet, pulling out a box and then lifting the lid.

At the top was a lacy petticoat, then underneath that a long letter. He opened it carefully. One was addressed to 'My dear children' from 'your father.' He extracted his camera and snaps six shots of each of the pages. He would have time to read it later. Not now.

The last item was a photo. He turned it over and unwrapped the tissue paper which covered it.

When the last of the paper was removed from it he studied it carefully, a frown creasing his forehead. Because he _knew_ this family, he recognised it from _somewhere_ , some long forgotten past.

He's been staring at it for a good two minutes when he finally realises _who_ he is looking at. Because even though its fifteen years since their picture has last been seen, and even though the republication of their image was now banned, even though they were officially forgotten, and their name not permitted to be spoken or written of, once upon a time this family was the most famous family in the world.

The British Royal Family. And once that clicks into place he knows exactly who the girl is now sleeping in the room next door. The girl he'd well and truly fucked for a good two hours last night, using her body for his pleasure while at the same time establishing a closer contact with a resistance operative as he'd been told to.

Princess Eleanor Henstridge.

Looking at the picture there could be no doubt about it, because as if the little girl of six in the picture didn't look as if she had become the girl of 22 next door (which she did), the uncanny resemblance between the former Queen Helena to that girl was too strong to be coincidence.

 _Who_ she is could get him his passport to South America tomorrow and a tidy little payout to send him on his way if he was to take her in.

He's still looking at the photo when he feels a slender hand run across his neck, and then a cold blade pressed against his neck.

"What the bloody hell are you doing," a voice hisses at him from behind, demanding.

To give her credit she's good, because he didn't hear or see her coming.

But he is better, because in one quick move he elbows her in the stomach and grabs her hand in his, quickly removing the blade from his throat.

A second later he slips his gun from his coat pocket and then she's pinned to the floor underneath him, chest heaving as she stares back up at him, a gun pressed to her temple.

"So pleased to make your acquaintance, _Princess_ ," he informs her, sliding a hand down her scantily clad form, as a smirk fixes itself on his face.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks for your reviews. Yep Jasper's a baddie (bad Jasper). And slick. But I kind of like him as a baddie, because things might get hot…._

 _And just to clarify, Jasper does too have the body of a Greek God (that is not just James' opinion)._

* * *

Her head snaps to the side and her eyes widen once the word 'Princess' falls from his lips, but she is all denial.

"Why would you call me that?" she demands, glaring back up at him.

"Because that's what you are. Or were. Princess Eleanor Henstridge. You're clearly the same girl in the photo," he drawls in an irritating American accent that is new to her because surely he sounded like an Englishman yesterday? "And William is not your friend he's your brother, Prince Liam," he adds, having drawn his own conclusions connecting the boy in the photo to the young man behind the bookshop counter.

He can see she's stewing as she glares back up at him. But she'd not ready to give up the ghost just yet. "That is ridiculous," she snaps. "And what the bloody hell were you doing snooping around my flat anyway in the dead of night?'

Jasper smirks. "Just curious by nature I guess," he adds, evading the question. He still has a gun resting by her head, and his free hand now shifts to her right side where he curls a lock of hair in his hand.

"You have no right," Eleanor huffs and then places a hand on his torso and shoves with as much might as she can muster. "Put the gun down. And get off me you nosy bastard," she orders haughtily.

Her efforts to move him are futile, because he must weigh at least twice as much as her, but eventually he decides to shift himself and gets up then places the gun back in his coat pocket.

"You know some people would be very interested in the fact that you're a Princess," Jasper announces lazily, raising an eyebrow at her.

She's just back on her feet now and his words catch her off guard, visibly knocking the breath out of her and she abruptly sits down on the bed, and he doesn't miss the way her lip trembles slightly.

James Hill wouldn't have been the best of the best after twenty years at Scotland Yard and another six as Head of Security at Buckingham Palace if he didn't drum into his adoptive daughter how important it was that she never, _ever_ , give away her true identify, because if she did she would be putting her life at risk, as well as the lives of her two brothers.

"I'm _not_ a Princess," she tells him, but this time, her denial is muted.

And even as she looks back up at him, she's terrified about what the bastard is planning to do with this information?

If he goes to the Nazis he'll probably get a big payout and she'll be facing certain death. But not before they most likely torture her to find out what she knows, to try and extract the location of her brothers from her.

And he's toying with exactly the same issue. Because he's shot two people while working undercover. He's passed on information that might get someone tortured.

But they were all anonymous to him, just faces and names in a notebook. Not actual people he'd met and spoken with. And he'd done all that with this girl, and a whole lot more. Felt her body rise under his, pressed his lips against her neck and felt her pulse thrum under his fingers, felt her gasping for air against his mouth as he came inside of her.

And she might be a little bitch who damn near killed him, but he has also has a grudging respect for her spirit, and the con man come spy in him has some inkling of how it feels to have to live your life as a lie - the constant fear of discovery lying heavy on you.

And something inside him shudders at the thought of her porcelain skin being scarred with red marks and her pretty neck being snapped in a noose.

He's watching her carefully as she sits on the bed, looking up at him with a mix of apprehension and defiance.

The sunrise is peeking up now and her hair glints cooper in the first rays of sun which illuminate the outline of her nipples against the thin fabric of her petticoat. And that decides him. He's not done with this one yet.

And he doesn't even give a shit that its not his brain that's doing the thinking here, so long as he gets what he wants. So long as he gets _her._

After all, he can always turn her in later and get his plane ticket later if he wants to. That's always been his plan, anyway.

He does a quarter turn and narrows his gaze. "You know I can be discreet Princess," he starts, suggestively. "We might be able to reach an _arrangement_ where no one needs to know your background."

Her eyebrows shoot up to the sky and she looks as if she's about to snap her rejection back at him, but instead she takes a breath, steadies herself and shuts her mouth abruptly.

Last night he had been all charm, but now that he knows her secret it turns out he's a very dangerous man indeed, and he's going to manipulate her for all that its worth. Now she knows exactly how it feels to be a fly caught in a web watching a spider slowly advance towards its dinner.

"Bastard," she hisses, under her breath, and he just catches her words because his mouth forms into a self-satisfied smirk.

And as if she didn't know what kind of arrangement he had in mind he steps forward and slowly and deliberately takes off his jacket and tosses it on the chair near the window.

Then he moves towards her while she watches him, simmering with resentment. And something else familiar because there's no denying he's ridiculously handsome, with the body of a Greek God and going by last night he knows how to use it all too well.

A minute later his hand is on her arm, pulling her to her feet and his lips are on hers, firm and demanding and then he's pushing her down onto the bed.

"I own you Princess. For this little arrangement to work, you'll do what I say, when I say it," his voice is authoritative, his breath is hot against the skin of her neck and she can feel his erection grinding into her.

"Now take off your slip. Slowly," he demands, his hand sliding down her to tug at her petticoat.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks for your reviews, glad to hear you're enjoying the story and also series 3._

 _And now for some M rated Jaspenor..._

* * *

"I own you Princess. For this little arrangement to work, you'll do what I say, when I say it," his voice is authoritative, his breath is hot against the skin of her neck and she can feel his erection grinding into her.

"Now take off your slip. Slowly," he demands, his hand sliding down her to tug at her petticoat.

His arrogance is breath taking. And the smugness written all over his smarmy, ridiculously handsome face, is infuriating.

"You _don't_ own me, Jaspaar," she corrects him hautily, glaring at him resentfully while making no move to comply.

Even if she's being manipulated into this little arrangement with this asshole from who knows where, who'll try and extract god knows what else from her aside from sex, she still can't help but bite back at him.

"And whoever you are and wherever your revolving accent is drawn from you hide your horns and cloven hoof rather well. No one would ever think from the outside that you were literally spawned by the devil," she clips. "I mean you could almost pass for-"

"Less talk. More stripping, Princess," Jasper interrupts her, rudely.

Eleanor eyes flash fire. "No manners to speak of, so I guess that establishes you _are_ an American."

Then she pulls herself upright and strips off her slip in one quick movement. "Very well then, asshole, let's just get this over with as quickly as possible so I can pretend I never had the displeasure of meeting such a duplicitous snake in the first place."

As soon as she's naked, Jasper's eyes light up and then he's on top of her. "Trust me baby, you'll remember this for the rest of your days," he tells her, dripping with a confidence that she finds supremely irritating.

"I seriously doubt that," she bites back, her chin held stubbornly high.

He quickly removes his pants, shirt and then briefs and then they're lying naked together in bed. Only this is nothing like last night when she thought he was charming, delightful and not to mention a half decent person.

If only he wasn't sooo unreasonably good looking. If only his chest wasn't a chiselled masterpiece of golden skin and muscles. If only there wasn't a part of her that didn't long to have his hands all over her again, and his skin against her skin, heated flesh against heated flesh.

What he does next takes her aback because his hand travels up her body, dipping over her curves and hollows reverently and she has to press her lips together to stop herself from letting out a sound. And then he puts his lips to her neck. "You're beautiful Princess," he breathes in her ear, and her stomach flutters unexpectedly.

Then he props himself up on an elbow and looks down at her, and the softness is gone, replaced with a hard stare. "Beautiful and you're mine. No other man can have you now. You belong to me," he tells her with emphasis.

"I don't –" Eleanor starts to set him straight but she's drowned out when his lips press against hers and its like the two of them catch alight because his lips are hot and his tongue invades her mouth while his hands travel south to cover the swell of her breasts. Her heart starts racing double time.

A minute later his mouth travels down the length of her body and then his hands are pulling apart her legs as he sinks down onto her, his mouth on her. She would push him off because she told him she wanted this to be fast and impersonal but his mouth and hands have the touch of an expert and her body starts to rise in a way she can't control and he keeps torturing her with his every touch until she's moaning and shuddering beneath him.

And only when she's so close she thinks she's going to explode does she feel him lowering himself down onto her, his muscled torso weighing her down. He takes her in his arms and kisses her fevered cheek, then she can feel him sliding himself inside her.

And he feels impossibly large but somehow her body manages to stretch to fit him, and she lets out another moan when he's buried as deep inside her as he can go.

He takes her arms from around his shoulders and pins them above her head, and then he starts moving, and to her it feels overwhelming as the pressure builds inside her with each thrust. And he won't let up because he keeps going and going. His hand pushes her hair back from his face and he groans against her mouth, "god you're so perfect baby. You feel amazing."

And he feels hot, and hard and she can feel him throbbing inside her until she aches.

He kisses her again. "Say my name," he demands in between thrusts.

And she doesn't even know why but she does what he tells her to. "Jaspaar," she breathes.

He pushes her head back, and tugs at her hair and it seems to set her off, and she pulls her hands out of his grasp and scratches her fingernails down his back and she can feel him shudder inside her from her touch.

"Say it again," he tells her as his movements get more urgent, and her head is knocking against the headboard with each thrust.

"Jaspaar," she moans. And again, "Jaspaar," she gasps and she can tell she's close and he's close because his breath is laboured and the sweat is gleaming on his forehead.

And then she finally comes and its so intense she feels like she's about to faint and its only his hands on her hips and the guttural sounds spilling from his lips as he follows her a moment after that convinces her she hasn't blacked out.

He collapses on top of her, and its almost over powering having his heavy, strong body on top of her, with the scent of sweat and sex filing the air.

After she's caught her breath, she goes to push him off her and demands that he get out of her room and out of her life.

He smirks to himself, presses a kiss to her lips and his hands rove down her body one more time, and finally rolls himself off her with the grace of a cat slinking away from the fireplace.

He pulls on his trousers, then his shirt and slips on his shoes.

"So this was fun Princess. I'm looking forward to a repeat performance tomorrow night," and with that he casually tosses his jacket over his shoulder and in two strides is out the door.

"You evil fucker," Eleanor's face is aghast as she glares at the back of his head as it slips from the room. But he doesn't even have the grace to acknowledge he's heard her.

She's so incensed she actually runs after him, grabs the door open and stands in the hallway hands on hips.

"You are not coming back tomorrow night, you bloody bastard," she yells after him, seething.

He's far down the corridor by the time her words come out, but he does manage to turn around. "You might want to put some clothes on Princess. Someone might take a picture of you and use it to blackmail you," he warns, an evil smirk flitting across his face.

And yes she might be standing naked in the middle of a corridor after a session that could very well have woken up the neighbours, but right now she doesn't give a fuck.

Eleanor stalks back down the corridor, yanks open the door and slams it after her loudly while she wonders what the bloody hell she did to deserve _that man_ in her life.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks so much for your reviews Yana, Luna, EmotionlessNightmare, InsanityFan and the other reviewer._

 _Yes I like bad Jasper and their series 1 dynamic too so have put a bit of this into the story. You will also recognise a few lines from series 1._

 _And yes there will be intrigue and sexiness and espionage to come too…_

 _Anyway posting this next chapter soon as I actually did a bit of writing (about a half hour) at work last week cos it was so quiet I had absolutely nothing to do and my boss was away (so bad me as well as bad Jasper! But good for you...)_

* * *

Her unwelcome, uninvited visitor is back again the next evening. And every evening after that.

He turns up every evening at 9pm, and leaves sometime after 10pm.

Of course she hates him for continuing to manipulate her. And the part of her that burns with anticipation as the clock creeps towards nine, the part of her that aches for his touch, she squashes down deep inside herself, because she reminds herself that Jasper Frost is the _enemy_. He is _not_ to be trusted. He is _not_ to be desired or longed for.

And somehow - and she still can't figure out how the hell he managed this - he's obtained his own key to her flat. Of course she's questioned him on this but he doesn't tell her how he managed this, just smirks and looks pleased with himself when she asks.

And she's still seriously contemplating whether she could get away with ringing a locksmith and having him change the locks. Because seeing his face when he turns up and finds that he's stuck outside her door while she refuses to let him in would be _priceless._

Only it may prompt the bastard to go to the authorities and tell them exactly who she is. And then _he_ would be the one laughing while she is detained and interrogated and then swiftly disposed of.

The thought makes her shudder and it is at that point that she stops leafing through the phone directory for 'locksmiths' and decides it's a bad idea.

And while he visits, he never stays the night - probably due to the risk that she would stab him to death once his head hit the pillow.

As well he should because the thought of murdering him in his sleep _was_ tempting.

But again she is rational enough to figure out that that would cause her far more problems than she already has, because for one she wouldn't even be able to lift him to dispose of the evidence. And if a dead body were discovered on the premises that would attract a lot of unnecessary questions for someone whose entire life was a lie only being held together by her keeping an incredibly low profile.

Besides which, she wasn't sure she had it in her to kill someone in cold blood. Even someone as entirely deserving of such treatment as Jasper Frost evidently was.

And she still can't figure out _who_ exactly he is. He tells her he's a car salesman, and it seems to fit sort of because he dresses quite well and manages to be somehow low key, yet also flashy, and has a latest model Ford. But she doesn't quite trust that this is the complete truth, so she's careful to try and hide the parts of her that she can't afford to be uncovered from him.

She buys a lock and everything about her plans to help Robbie and her work for the underground she keeps at her art college in her locker, which is where she also stashes the few precious memories she has of her father.

After Jasper's Frost has been visiting her every night to fuck her brains out with a minimum of accompanying conversation for nearly three weeks, quite unexpectedly he parks himself in her bed one evening after extracting some hate sex from her and announces he's staying the night.

And no amount of argument on her part or stamping one delicate foot on the floor will persuade him to move.

In fact he just cocks one eyebrow at her. "You know you're really sexy when you're mad," he announces, looking her willowy underwear clad figure up and down. "Keep at it and I'll be throwing you on the bed for another session."

And it's late, and she has had quite enough of him for one night and she _absolutely_ refuses to take the couch in her own flat so instead she just stalks over to him and slaps him across the side of the head.

"That's for stealing my bed," she points her finger at him angrily. "Now shove over and give me back my duvet you son of a bitch."

* * *

"All this angry, supposedly reluctant sex we've been having is making me hungry. Go get me some breakfast. And coffee," Jasper announces the next morning, after he's worked up an appetite from another round of blackmail sex.

He's stolen one of her pillows and is sitting propped up in bed in the same spot he decided to occupy last night.

"Make your _own_ bloody breakfast," Eleanor rolls over away from him and tugs the duvet violently so it comes off of him leaving him exposed to the cool morning air.

The last thing she needs is him thinking he can sleep over every night _and_ have her act as his maid. She has a life and classes to get to by nine.

"So now the story I have to go public with is 'former Princess Eleanor located in Southhampton where she keeps house messily and refuses to provide her houseguests with breakfast,'" Jasper tells her, steeping his hands together as he ponders the news headline.

A flicker of alarm crosses her face, and she pulls herself upright abruptly.

"My house is _not_ unreasonably messy. And most houseguests don't turn up every night to blackmail the hostess into sex and are generally a _lot_ better mannered than the present company," she argues back, crossly.

Jasper folds his arms across his bare chest. "Ok so former Princess Eleanor located in Southhampton where she keeps house messily and refuses to accommodate _rude_ houseguests with breakfast then," he amends, but he's still wearing that self-satisfied smirk which graces his face whenever he manages to blackmail some more sex out of her. Only this time his ambitions now run to breakfast, _apparently._

"Rude uncouth blackmailing American houseguests," Eleanor corrects him hautily. "Whom your readers would not be so sympathetic to once they discover what a complete asshole they are."

"Still I'd get a few hundred marks for that story from the Reich and more from a newspaper," he tells her, leaning over to pick up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "Maybe even enough to buy a second car," he ponders as he strikes a match and lights up, sucking in a breath then exhaling slowly.

Beside him, Eleanor is silently steaming.

"Fine," she announces ungraciously after a few minutes, throwing back the duvet as she hauls herself out of bed. "I'll whip you up a side of bacon and eggs, spliced with cynanide."

And even though he's a master of the poker face, he can't control the slight twitch of his lips in response to her comments.

"And coffee," he reminds her. "But hold the cyanide," he orders back.

"Hmm. You know swallowing some poison in your espresso might improve you considerably," Eleanor tells him, her voice deceptively innocent.

"I could say the same for you Princess," he replies back gravely, then takes another drag from the cigarette.

"Always the gentleman," she quips sourly, slamming the door after her as she exits the bedroom.

* * *

It's nearly an hour later when he's finally about to leave.

He grabs his coat and he's making his way to the door when he pauses by her.

He makes to kiss her but she turns her face away from him.

"I'm not your wife you know, so spare me the gestures of respectability," she rolls her eyes impatiently. "And by the way, I won't be here tomorrow, so don't bother coming over," she adds.

That captures his attention, but his expression doesn't give anything away. "Oh really, that wasn't part of our arrangement. Where are you going then?" he enquires casually.

Her temper flares. "I don't exist just to service you 24 hours a day, forever more. I do have my own life," she tells him hotly.

He doesn't miss the fact that amongst this outburst she hasn't answered his question. It's all deeply suspicious.

"Where are you going then?" he repeats his question.

"Brighton," she lies. "Not that it's any of your business," she adds folding her arms. "I'll be back Tuesday or maybe Wednesday."

"I'll await your return with anticipation, Princess," he tells her, raising an eyebrow.

"Unfortunately I can't say the same," she quips, then pulls open the door and waits for him to depart.


	6. Chapter 6

_Southhampton, England, 25 July 1961_

The next morning he stops by the bookshop.

Obergruppenfuhrer Wahler wants him to monitor secondhand bookstores and junkshops because apparently the Reich is interested in any films that may turn up there. Specifically any films that are labelled with the words 'grasshopper.'

He doesn't know what this is about, and assumes the films must be unauthorised by the Reich. His boss tells him they are concerned the resistance also has copies of the films, so he is to be alert to any references to these in his line of work.

He's been checking the shelves of the bookshop where the man he now knows to be the former Prince Liam works every couple of days because as well as books, they also have records and a small stack of films in a dusty corner. He's checked all the films through he's come across to date, and he's never found one of the ones they are after.

But today, when he enters the shop, William looks at him brightly.

"Got some new films in yesterday, lot of them. Must be at least 50," he tells him, with a smile, because he knows he's been perusing the films as well as some of the sections of bookshop.

"Great," Jasper replies back.

When he's in the bookshop, he's in the mould of William's mate. This version of himself is more outgoing and friendly than he would normally bother to be, because he needs to cultivate him as a contact.

A minute later, he's down the back of the store, scrolling his finger along the films as he reads the titles.

He's gone through a dozen before his finger stops to rest on one title which reads, 'The grasshopper lies heavy."

He withdraws it quickly and inspects it, satisfied that this is exactly what they are after. He slips it inside his coat, then continues looking through the rest of the stack of films.

There are no more films, until he reaches the very last one in the stack, which bears the exact same title. He pulls it out and withdraws the other one from his jacket, then approaches the counter, keeping the titles facing down.

"Found something you like, huh?" William asks, smiling back at him.

"Yeah, sure, I'll take these ones," Jasper tells him back.

"Films are two marks each, so that makes four marks," Williams tells him.

"Right. Here you go," Jasper withdraws a note from his wallet and passes it over.

'By the way, you haven't watched any of the new films have you?," Jasper asks casually.

William smiles ruefully, "no time for that. Any time I'm not shelving books I spent catching up on my studies behind the counter."

"Promise not to tell the boss," Jasper chips back.

"Yes thanks," William laughs. "See you next time then."

Jasper nods and takes the films, stashing them in his coat.

It's a good thing that he hadn't viewed the films, because then he would have to tell his boss. Then he would be brought in for interrogation which he's not sure he would emerge alive from.

And that's a relief because he likes the person who the young Prince Liam has become.

* * *

His orders are not to watch the films, but to take them straight in to HQ.

So naturally he watches the films.

It takes him a minute to loop the film at his apartment and set up the projector.

Then he pours himself a whiskey, even though only nine thirty in the morning and sits down to watch the films.

Once the first film starts to roll, he recognises it is set in Fuhrer Platz, the site known before the war as Trafalgar Square.

The square is now home to Victory day celebrations where Nazi troops march every year to commemorate the day they defeated Britain and its Empire. It's also home to Nazi party rallies.

But in this film, all that has been overturned because there's not a Nazi in sight.

People cram every corner of the square to listen to someone speak. They are young, students, workers, even school children. At their centre of the square a tall, dark haired young man with an air of natural authority and leadership stands.

As he starts to speak, the crowd falls silent, spellbound.

He can't hear his words because the film is silent, but after two minutes he stops and the crowd breaks out into rapturous applause, and then the young man is yelling and pointing towards the Reich Zentral Gebaude. The men punch their firsts in the air, and then people start running towards the building, chanting and the crowd flows like a river towards the Reichs seat of power in Great Britain.

The film ends and then he's starting at a blank wall, wondering when this ever happened?

There is no way such a gathering would ever be permitted by the Reich. And going by the clothes the people were wearing it looked recent, and yet no word of it ever reached the newspapers or state television.

He gets up, still pondering these questions and loads the next film.

And this film, too is set in London, but this time in Sieg Park.

It's a clear sunny summer day in the city, and families stroll in the park, mothers push their children in prams, ducks swim in the pools and businessmen enjoy their lunch, full suited on the benches.

The camera scrolls to one of the gates and instead of Sieg Park, the entry gates names it as Hyde Park.

To this day some locals with long memories still refer to as Hyde Park, even though this is _verboten_. But this footage isn't taken from the distant past, because no woman in the 1930s or 1940s ever wore their skirts as short as these women do, while the young men are scruffy, with wide legged jeans and tight fitting t shirts.

And then the camera is moving down the length of the park, panning around. The posters which typically pepper public spaces with slogans such as 'Join the Aryan youth league' and 'Be vigilant against enemies of the Reich' have all disappeared.

It's so fast he almost misses it, and has to stand up to rewind and replay the film, pausing it on one scene. In the front are an elderly couple admiring the flowers but its whats in the corner of the shot, out of focus that makes him do a double take.

It's him – he's sitting here watching this film in his own home and at the same time he's on the screen in front of him.

He is sitting on a park bench, in a casual shirt and jeans relaxing in the summer sun. In front of him is a small girl, maybe four years old, playing with a ball on the ground. And he has an arm around a girl who is sitting folded into his chest with a baby on her knee. And he knows this girl, he's been with her every night for the past two and a half weeks. It's her – Princess Eleanor (or Clare Hill if you will). And the little girl is so alike the child he saw in the photo of the former Royal family that she must be her daughter.

And he knows for a certainty that this can't be a movie, its not from the past, because he would remember _that._ He would remember meeting her before. So where the hell is this from?

And he's staring at the little girl, who is so like the Princess and he starts to wonder – is she also _his_ daughter, and is the baby also _his?_ And if the film is not from the past, then the only other logical explanation, an explanation which makes no sense at all to him is for the film to be from the future. A future where Princess Eleanor may be his future wife, and mother of his children.

And the other – rational – part of his brain thinks, no, that can't be right?

He stares at the film for a long time, confused, while his thoughts churn.

He looks happy in this possible future. _Really_ happy. She fits right into the crook of his shoulder and she looks happy. And if he peers close enough at the baby, he thinks maybe he looks like him, with a thick thatch of blond hair and a strong set of eyebrows.

Eventually he shuts the film off, and reaches for another drink. He is not going to hand the films over today.

He washes his drink down in one gulp, then gets up.

He still has a job to do.

He is still tasked with spying on members of the English resistance in Southhampton.

He is still going to go to wherever it is the former Princess is going, which he is certain is _not_ Brighton.

And whatever she and the rest of her associates are up to, he is going to uncover it.

* * *

 _Thanks for your reviews. Yes he is off to not Brighton!_

 _And the films might be a bit confusing – you will have to watch the Man in the High Castle to understand them and hell I've watched 2 seasons of it and don't even understand them myself yet…_


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks for your reviews, sorry can't update daily exactly but have put the next chapter up as soon as it was done. Yes the story does draw quite a bit on some of the things happening in the Man in the High Castle which has the Nazi state background/ resistance and the films thing. The Castle mentioned in this chapter is Dunster Castle by the way if you want to know (its beautiful)._

 _And now for more story. Let me know how you like it! Thanks_

* * *

He knows enough about her habits to know that she wouldn't be leaving the house before 10 unless its absolutely necessary.

Left to her own devices the Princess is messy, with a catlike love of luxury and likes to curl up in her bed for a good hour or two after waking up if possible, although she clearly didn't appreciate his presence in her bed this morning. Or at least put a lot of effort into pretending she didn't.

So he's not the least bit surprised that she doesn't leave the house until 10.35am, when a taxi pulls up to collect her.

He wonders about her. To be able to afford the taxi, and the expensive dresses in her wardrobe – which although not plentiful – all scream both quality and Paris – there must be some money left, even if its not a huge amount.

He dismisses the thought once the taxi pulls out, waits ten seconds and then steps on the accelerator. It takes them ten minutes to get across town, by which time he's already worked out where she's heading.

He parks up thirty feet from where the taxi has stopped and gives her a minute to make her way into the train station then lurks in the shadows near the toilets until he sees she's made it to the front of the queue. After a quick exchange with the cashier she grabs a ticket and heads for the café. He joins the queue.

"I was wondering where the dark haired girl you served a couple of minutes ago is headed – the one in the black dress," he asks, putting on his most charming smile to the grey haired older woman behind the ticketing counter.

The woman raises her eyebrows back at him, surprised.

He's ready with a twenty mark note if need be, but decides to go for charm first. Charm and romance – because he didn't manage to swindle his way into a charmed life in American society without developing an appreciation for how much women love the idea of romance.

"Call me a sucker for a pretty face but I'd like a ticket to wherever she's going," he tells her, leaning into the counter and giving her a winning smile.

"Well it's not really standard for me to say, sir, but who am I to stand in the way of young love? She's going to Watchet," she tells him, lapping up his story with relish.

"Right - a ticket to Watchet it is then," he repeats.

"Nine marks fifty sir," she tells him.

He hands over his money. "Where exactly is Watchet then?" he asks.

The lady takes his money. "North Devon, beautiful part of the country, lovely area for a day trip."

"Great," he nods as he collects his ticket.

"Hope you get the girl sir," she tells him, winking.

He smirks. "Yeah, I'm gonna get her for sure," he tells her, whipping around to start striding across the rail station concourse, then deposits his ticket in the rubbish, and heads for his car as he calculates his route to Devon.

* * *

He arrives a good half hour before her.

He assumes she's had to change trains, probably more than once and he's had his foot on the pedal because whenever he's behind the wheel he needs the rush of adrenalin the speed provides anyway.

When he spots her, she's made her way out of the train station and she walks down towards the neighbourhood park nearby, and then waits.

From his car he can keeps an eye on her. And he thinks that whoever she's working for should really know better.

Because her dress is too expensive and clings to her in all the right places, her hair is too shiny and her complexion is too luminous so that the overall effect is too beautiful. And people – Nazi soldiers, the Polizei, whoever, are going to notice her. She draws attention to herself merely by being there.

His thoughts are interrupted when an old black car pulls up beside her. There is a quick exchange between the driver and the Princess. Then the drivers opens the door and comes around to the side and places her case in the boot and opens the passenger door.

The Princess steps into the car and then they pull out into the road again and he gives them a moment before he follows. They only travel for a few minutes before they pull up at a nondescript house.

He parks up just around the corner, pulls his hat down low and takes a seat on a park bench where he has a view of the house. By the time the two of them emerge again its dark, and his patience is wearing thin.

* * *

Her lines are so carefully rehearsed she thinks she could say them in her sleep.

And at first everything goes so perfectly and it all seems _so easy._

The guard is young – late 20s maybe – and thankfully English with slicked back dark hair and a self-assured air and he answers her first question with ease about how she can get a pass to travel to York.

"Come back here tomorrow afternoon after 3 and they'll assess your request Miss," he tells her. "You local then? I haven't seen you round, and I'd remember a pretty face like yours."

She nods, "I've only been here a couple of months though, before that I was living in Kent."

"Nice. Say you come back tomorrow bout 4.30, they can look at your papers, and then we could get a drink if you're keen," he offers.

She smiles back at him and nods. "So long as it's a double, and you're paying, handsome," she flirts back.

"Of course," he assures her.

Behind them the outline of the Castle looms large. Over thirty men are locked up in the ancient fortress. And while only two guards stand sentry at the front gate, a dozen more are on duty inside.

"Cold night, huh," he adds, stepping in to her and suggestively and putting an arm around her.

The other guard glances over at them with disinterest, then returns his attention to his post.

She reaches inside her coat and extracts a cigarette and lighter then lights up, exhaling seductively.

"You want one?" she asks, pulling another cigarette out and offering it to him.

He nods, "Yeah. But let me show you the river darling," he suggests, taking her arm and propelling her away from the castle.

She lets him take her away from the Gate and the castle lights and towards the gardens.

He pauses on an old stone bridge and she looks down into the fast flowing water. Her palms are sweaty and her throat is dry.

"They call this Lover's bridge," he tells her.

He takes another drag of his cigarette. "You know I could probably swing it to get you your travel pass tomorrow. Have a word with the Kommandant," he tells her.

"I'd be grateful," she tells him. And she doesn't bother with the flirting anymore because she's got him right where she's supposed to have him, and she doesn't need anything more from him tonight.

But it seems he wants more, because he steps in to kiss her.

He's not a bad kisser, just not good. But she lets him anyway, even threads her hand into his uniform labels and opens her mouth with pretend enthusiasm and lets him stick his tongue in, because she remembers why she is here.

And she remembers what and who this is all about.

* * *

From the anonymity of his spot behind a tree in the castle grounds, he's watched it all unfold.

Saw the Princess approach the guard and strike up a conversation.

Saw her offer him a cigarette, and him take her arm and lead her away from the gate and into the garden.

Saw a man in dark coloured clothing slip up behind the other guard, place his hand over his mouth and slit his throat.

Saw another half dozen men in civilian clothes silently slip into the castle.

And at no point did he feel inclined to do anything to stop this. That's not part of his role, and the fact that this regime has compelled him to act as their agent for the past six month hasn't installed in him a brotherly love for the Nazi state or its soldiers. And now this is in full swing its unlikely that he alone could stop it. No – much better to get some intel on this and be the one who uncovers those involved in the plot afterwards when the Obergruppenfuhrer is baying for blood. So he's been occupying himself making notes about the resistance involvement in this little operation.

In fact the only thing that really bothers him about this whole thing is what the hell the Princess and the other guard are doing in the gardens, and he doesn't even know why he should care about that at all, except that he _does._

It's only after the silent band of assassins have been inside the castle for a good ten minutes that all hell breaks out. He sees it before he hears it because the spotlights illuminate up inside the castle and then the siren starts wailing, followed by the sound of orders being shouted first in German and then English.

And then a scattering of men rush out the gate, some in civilian clothes, some in prison uniforms and rush towards the road where three vehicles are waiting.

And then there is a clatter of leather boots running and four, five, six guards emerge from the castle with machine guns in hand.

And he doesn't even know why he does it - he doesn't think at all - but now he's not hiding anymore but he's making for the river, in long strides as fast as he can.

On the road below he can hear one of the vehicles fires up straight away, and another one starts up a minute later.

The guards are yelling and running down towards the road and as he gets closer to the river he can hear more shouting.

He rounds the corner and in front of him is an old bridge.

As he gets closer even though its dark, by the moonlight he can see the guard has the Princess pressed against the bridge.

"You little bitch, you're one of _them_ aren't you, luring me down here, probably trying to get me killed. Well I'll bloody teach you to try that on with me –"

Two steps more and he can see they're both half undressed and once he sees he has his hands around her neck, even before the guard drops his hand to reach for the revolver in his pocket, Jasper has drawn his gun.

"Step aside from the lady," he says coolly.

The guard swings around and regards him open mouthed. The Princess has her hands around her neck, gasping for air and staggers away from the guard.

"Who are-"

The guard doesn't even get to finish his question before two shots leave his gun, the sound masked by his silencer.

He falls to the ground immediately and then Jasper takes two quick steps forward and grabs the Princess by the hand, pulling her along by his momentum and they are running, away from the flashlights and sirens and the sound of shots and dogs barking – running faster than ever before.

Running for their lives.


	8. Chapter 8

_Aww thanks for your reviews everyone. More action and thickening of the plot continues..._

* * *

The castle gardens are scattered with flowers and subtropical plants, but Jasper pulls her along, weaving expertly in and out of the foliage, as they run down the slope of the hill.

Suddenly he pauses and pushes her down on the ground, then drops and follows, his hand laying heavy across her back, pressing her to the ground.

Even though she has no breath, she wants to ask why, when a searchlight sweeps across their path and over their bodies pressed against the ground behind the shelter of the undergrowth.

Against the silence her heart beat sounds impossibly loud, and so does her breathing. The sound of dogs barking breaks the silence, and she thinks – if they set the dogs on us, its only a matter of time before they smell them and then they'll be hauled out of their hiding place and marched back into the prison, locked up, never to see the light of day again or even to draw breath.

She turns to the man next to her, because she still has no idea how he got to be here or why he's here.

"What are you doing here?" she demands in a whisper.

"Saving your ass apparently," he hisses back, tightly.

He has his face turned away from her and she can't read his expression. The light has passed over them and is turned towards the back of the garden.

"Now get up and go," he orders, pulling her arm up.

And then they're running again, him leading the way. She follows, not knowing where they are going only that is it away from the castle.

But he seems to know exactly where they are going.

And in the background she can hear the soldiers yelling at each other in German and the sound of a truck starting up and making its way down the hill.

At the bottom of the gardens, a collection of large boulders mark the edge of the garden, creating a jagged wall with a steep drop.

He tightens his grip on her hand.

"Follow me," he tells her, as he picks his way around the boulders.

When they come to the wall, he slides over the edge, falls down the two metre drop and lands on his feet.

The drop is high but she knows this is no time to be faint hearted. She follows next, and slithers herself over the rocks.

He takes her hand and then there is steep drop because he catches her, and his arms are strong and steady and he smells of the same cologne she recognises from last night and every other night that he's been all over her.

And for a moment he's not thinking about escape but instead he's thinking about her and his lips capture hers, pressing her back with his momentum. And she puts a hand on his chest, parts her lips to let him kiss her deeper and pushes him right back while he steals all the remaining breath from her body.

And then she opens her eyes and he's gone, and instead he's tugging her down towards a black car parked behind a group of trees.

He opens the driver's door and she pulls open the passenger door and slides in quickly.

He switches the ignition on, puts it into gear and then puts his foot to the accelerator. A moment later they are flying down the winding road which leads down from the castle to the township below.

"Put your seat belt on, and hold on," he tells her tightly.

"I see you haven't bothered to follow your own instructions," she points out, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm too busy driving here," he tells her, sounding irritated. "Now do it," he snaps.

She rolls her eyes, and then leans over and pulls the seat belt across her and fastens it. "Hypocrite," she mutters.

"You know its right about now that I start to regret my decision to save your sorry ass," Jasper tells her, his eyes fixed to the road and his knuckles gripping the wheel as he turns yet another sharp bend. "And you had better hope that we don't meet the Nazi truck coming back up the hill at this point."

She's been thinking the exact same thing because that would spell the end for both of them.

She decides to distract herself instead.

"You have yet to satisfactorily explain how the bloody hell you came to be here at the exact same time and the exact same place as me. Have your been spying on me. Or stalking me?" she demands, folding her arms across her chest and looking towards him for an explanation.

Jasper just shrugs.

Eleanor's watching him. "That's not even an answer," she tells him, huffing.

"Yes well I am trying to avoid us being captured by a fucking Nazi patrol here so excuse me for focusing on your safety first Princess," Jasper tells her crossly.

"I appreciate your helping me. You may answer my questions later then," Eleanor tells him graciously.

Jasper grunts noncommittally.

"Just shut up and keep your eyes peeled," he adds rudely.

* * *

They manage to make it down the hill without running into any soldiers.

Jasper takes the car across the town and luckily they don't run into any patrol vehicles.

Just as they leave the town behind and head into the countryside, the Princess tells him to pull over.

"Why?" he questions.

"I need to pee," she informs him, in her oh so posh accent.

He rolls his eyes. "Your timing couldn't be worse. Two minutes Princess, we could be being followed for all I know," he warns.

"Thank you," she replies back and hops out of the car and heads for a spot behind the bushes.

Two minutes pass with no sign of the Princess. Then three minutes.

He steps out of the car. "Hurry up we need to get going," he yells impatiently.

There is no reply.

It's only then that it occurs to him that _she_ has done a number on _him_. And he curses the day he ever got tangled up with Princess Eleanor Henstridge, because her pretty face and sexy as hell body did not adequately compensate for the way she'd managed to distract him from his job and in the process quite possibly _ruin_ his life.

And he still has this feeling, the same feeling he had earlier this evening, that he can't just let her go. He can't let her get picked up by the Nazis, either this evening or later when they eventually track her down. Her spy skills are only just _adequate_ , but not good enough to outsmart the Reich for very long.

He stands by the roadside simmering, while he considers what he'll do next.

Then gets behind the wheel, and follows the road back towards the village, his eyes scanning the roadside.

* * *

He can't find her but he can make an educated guess about where she might be heading.

And sure enough twenty five minutes later she turns up outside the same house she visited earlier that evening. And he's sitting across the road in his car watching her.

He follows her and is standing at the house about to open the small white gate which leads to the house when out steps a man. Neither of them notice him because they're too fixed on each other.

Once he sees him he recognises him immediately from the film. He is the leader, the one who will lead the demonstration against the Reich.

As soon as he's there, she falls into his arms immediately. They hug each other tightly for a moment and then separate.

And once he's standing beside Princess Eleanor, even with a bruised face and a slight limp, he knows who this is because the resemblance between them and to the boy in the photo is apparent to see. His Royal Highness Prince Robert, first born son and one time heir to the British throne. Formerly set to inherit the crown and lead a commonwealth of free nations under England's banner.

And even now, standing there in front of him, the presence of destiny hangs heavy in the air about him. About them both, because Eleanor, beautiful, elegant and every inch the Princess is so determined and has the same sense of fate about her.

His mind goes back to the film and he knows for sure that they will be the future, they will lead their people.

They will change _everything_.


	9. Chapter 9

_Thanks for your reviews. Yip I love Eleanor and her rebel spirit too, but Jasper is too clever to be outsmarted easily._

 _And yes there will be more about the films later on in the story. But I think its going to be a long story because there is a lot of stuff to fit in which I haven't got to yet so it will take a while to get there..._

* * *

A moment later the Prince spies him and he can see him do a double take before collecting himself.

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice deliberately polite, but there is a wariness in his eyes.

Eleanor turns and spots him next. "Bloody hell. You _are_ stalking me," she exclaims, a scowl flashing across her pretty face.

Her words cause her brother to frown. "Do you have anything to discuss with this man?" he asks her.

Eleanor folds her arms together. "Well I guess he did save my life this evening," she tells him grudgingly.

"We had better go inside," Robert announces. "And he had best come inside too," he adds.

As soon as he's inside the house, Prince Robert shuts the door after him.

"Whatever it was you did to save her, I am grateful for it," he tells him, offering Jasper his hand.

Jasper takes his hand for a quick handshake.

"My name is Richard Johnson," Robert tells him.

Jasper interrupts, "I know who you are Your Highness," he tells him, eyeballing him squarely. They don't need to feed him any of their bullshit or lies.

In the corner of the room Eleanor has lit up a cigarette and stands tensely by the window.

"Of course you do" she mutters crossly, because apparently Jasper Frost knows _everything_ about _everyone_ and yet they know _nothing_ about him.

"And who your sister Princess Eleanor is too," he adds, shooting her a brief glance.

Prince Robert doesn't look impressed that his sister has broken her cover somehow and that this man knows both of their true identities.

"And you know each other how?" Prince Robert questions.

"Mutual friends," Jasper tells him.

"He's won't bloody remove himself from my bed," Eleanor announces, speaking at the same time as Jasper.

Eleanor flicks the ash off her cigarette, glaring at Jasper. Mutual bloody friends indeed. He manages to make it sound like they were introduced at a Church picnic when the reality was he been blackmailing his way into her bed and her body for _weeks_ now.

Robert rolls his eyes, because he knows his sister's bed gets a lot of traffic. And maybe it's a good thing if someone is occupying it permanently once in a while.

"I see," Robert replies, and if she's not mistaken there's a faint smirk playing around his lips which Eleanor finds _extremely_ irritating.

"No, Robert, you don't see," Eleanor tells him sharply.

Just then the door from the hallway is pushed open and a scruffy young man with a blond beard and a bandage on his arm makes his way into the room. Jasper recognises him as the one who picked up Eleanor from the train station.

No one introduces him. He stands on the sidelines watching Jasper suspiciously.

Robert clears his throat and looks towards Jasper. "So what do you want here then?"

Jasper can't help but let his eyes stray towards the spot where Eleanor stands.

"It's not safe for you to stay here. Either of you. It's too close to the prison and it won't be long before the Nazis comes knocking on your door," he tells them both. "I was going to take her away from here, somewhere safe."

Robert considers his words. "I agree. In fact I was going to tell you the same thing Lenny," he announces.

"What - no! I need to be with Robbie," Eleanor protests hotly, giving her brother an appealing look.

"He's right Lennie. I'm a wanted man. If they do take me, and the Reich has tentacles everywhere, then let it be me alone. The last thing I want is them coming for you," he tells her.

"I have my car, I can take her now," Jasper offers.

"I don't want to leave you," Eleanor says stubbornly, looking to her brother. "We've only just got you back and they hurt you," she adds and her voice is anguished when she looks at the bruises on his face.

She's sure that underneath his shirt there are many more bruises and scars which her brother will never let the world see because he, more than any of them, is a born Prince.

And then her brother comes over to her and lays his hands on her shoulders. "I'll be out of here within an hour myself and off into the countryside. I'll be fine," he assures her. "So long as I know you're safe, Len," he tells her in a low voice. "You have to go now," he tells her, and there is such authority in his tone that she is forced to swallow her fears and her protests.

She doesn't reply, but instead turns around to address Jasper and the man standing opposite him. "Could you give us a minute please?" she requests.

The other man crosses the room, removes a small package from underneath a chair and deposits it with the Princess. "Protect 22 at all costs and remember everything you've learned," he tells her cryptically, then leaves the room.

Jasper moves to stand in the hallway, tensely.

His watch is gone 10.48pm when she emerges from the room three minutes later, clutching the bag she brought with her on the train and the package in her arms.

And if he looks close enough its clear that she's been crying. Which is no surprise because she knows enough to understand that the chances are good that between her and her brother one of the two of them won't emerge from hiding alive, and even if they do they may still never see each other again.

He snaps upright and takes the lead, leaning over to remove the bag from her hands because he's not good with words, or at least not words at times like these.

"Let's go then," he tells her, leading the way to his car.

And she nods silently and steps out into the street and only now does it occur to her that for the second time in her life she's leaving herself, everything and everyone she loves behind and heading for the unknown.


	10. Chapter 10

_Thanks for your reviews. Let me know how you like the story and your theories on what will happen next._

* * *

Jasper weaves through the village's side streets then down English countryside back lanes as they drive in tense silence.

Beside him, Eleanor is silently stewing because in hindsight she can't believe that it was so easy for her brother talk her into leaving with the overly self-assured, deceitful, manipulative asshole beside her, who despite the fact that he's been occupying her bed for over two weeks, is still an entirely unknown quantity.

And as the miles mount up and they creep ever further away from her brother who is the one known in a whirlwind of uncertainty and unknowns the more the feeling of panic that won't be stifled inside her chest starts to mount.

Every time they round a corner she is imagines a tank or a checkpoint, and her nerves are on edge a hundred fold.

And occasionally they see a set of lights in the distance, and Jasper pulls over into a field and creeps behind a hedge until the lights pass.

"Where are we going?," Eleanor questions, after they've been driving in silence for a good twenty minutes.

"Wherever they won't think to look," Jasper answers her, and she can't help but notice his calm complacency is in stark contrast to her shattered nerves.

"You _like_ this, don't you?" she questions, sharply.

He smirks. "It has a certain challenge."

"Like possible death," Eleanor mutters back, and he doesn't miss the edge in her voice.

He glances back at her. "I won't let them catch us. We'll be fine," he tells her, but he can't help but tighten his grip on the wheel, because he doesn't always keep his promises. But for her, he will.

"And Robbie. Will he be fine too?" and even as the question tumbles out of her mouth, she wants to take it back because she knows she sounds desperate and uncertain, begging him to tell her he'll be fine too.

"He knows what he's doing I think," he replies back.

She let's out a breath she didn't even know she'd been holding in and settles back into her seat.

They drive on, bumping along the country lanes, and Jasper drives as quickly as he dares with the lights switched off.

Eleanor's nerves start to settle but she's watchful, looking out in front of them and out her window, watching for any unseen hazards or soldiers.

They pass through little thatched cottages, with perfect country gardens and fields of sheep next door and pretty hedgerowed lanes illuminated by moonlight.

"I like it here," Eleanor says dreamily, smiling to herself as they pass a little stone church near a river.

Jasper grunts in reply, and somehow that seems to encourage Eleanor to talk some more.

"You know when we were little we used to have an estate here which we would come to in the summertime. And I had a pony. Liam had a horse too and we would race each other around the paddock and I always won," she's talking more to herself than him, staring off into the moonlit darkness outside.

Normally she keeps these memories to herself – she has to – but holding on to them is the only way she can remember that part of her she's in danger of forgetting.

Her next question startles him.

"You know you always call me normally call me Princess but then when we're in bed and you come you call me Eleanor. Why do you do that?" she asks, turning towards him, frowning.

Because the first time he'd done that, the sound of her own name on his lips was strange, confusing and somehow thrilling because no one, not even her brothers, used her real name now, and it had been well over a dozen years since anyone had uttered it.

"Because that's your name," he tells her, as if he's stating the obvious. And also he likes the way it sounds. It _suits_ her. But he doesn't tell her that.

"No one calls me that anymore," she replies. "No one is allowed to now," she adds.

Not since she was taken from the Palace.

When she was a child, she hated her name. Thought it was old-fashioned and boring and she wanted to be called Jenny or Anna or something modern.

But somehow the way he says it makes it sound right.

"No one except me," he replies back at her in the dark.

And she almost goes to agree with him but then she remembers _when_ he says her name and she bites her lip to stop herself.

And naturally he has to go and ruin whatever progress they happened to have made by deciding at that precise moment to put his hand on her knee and slide it northwards.

She slaps his hand away, sharply. "Just focus on the bloody road, will you," she orders.

"I can multitask," he tells her, boldly.

"You can't multitask if you're trying to drive and put your hand up my skirt while I'm slapping you in the face," Eleanor points out sourly.

He withdraws his hand. "We can take this up later if you really insist," he tells her, complacently.

"I most definitely don't insist," Eleanor bites back crossly. "And you should be on some kind of register," she snaps.

A grin flashes across his face. "I am wanted in several US states you know," he tells her.

Her head snaps around and she glares back at him because _yes_ , he definitely sounds proud of himself here.

"I should have guessed," she mutters loudly.

She would say more but something in the distance catches her eye. "There's a truck up ahead there," she points. "You should take the next side road."

"A ha. Despite the fact I'm American I am actually capable of working out for myself that its probably not a good idea to drive directly into it," Jasper tells her dryly, as he starts to make the turn.

"Yes well, I don't know how well you people are educated over there. _If_ indeed you are educated at all," Eleanor replies snobbily.

It's getting late and they have a lot of ground to cover, so in the interests of his own santity he elects not to continue this discussion, and instead he decides to tune her out and press his foot harder down on the accelerator.

* * *

They drive until dawn nears and then Jasper pulls up just off the road.

Eleanor's exhausted but still awake and she doesn't miss the symbol scrawled on the letterbox in front of her, which is probably what drew Jasper here in the first place.

"Stay here, and if a vehicle comes by get behind those trees," he orders pointing to where she has to go.

"Ok," Eleanor nods, because he sounds deadly serious.

She sits in the car in silence for five minutes before he returns.

He doesn't say a word but starts up the car and drives slowly into the driveway which leads to a little cottage behind a high hedge.

"Open the gate," he orders.

Eleanor's not used to be being talked to that way. "Who me?" she questions, offended.

"Yes, you Princess, its not like there's anyone else in this vehicle, is it?," he rolls his eyes.

She huffs, still annoyed both by the way he orders her around and also because this is yet another example of how he is singularly lacking any sort of gentlemanly qualities.

But then what would you expect from an _American_?

After a moment she gets out, making sure to slam the door loudly, and opens the gate.

He drives through, and, typically self-centred, doesn't bother to stop to pick her up again so that she has to walk the remaining 20 metres herself.

By the time she reaches the door, he's already been there for ten seconds and has somehow managed to open the door without leaving any evidence he was there in the first place.

She follows him inside.

The house is humble, and has obviously been unoccupied for a number of years, going by the dust built up in the windowsills and tables.

If this were a more elegant home and more spacious than just two simple bedrooms, a small parlour, a kitchen and basic bathroom, then it would have been reallocated and occupied.

Eleanor wanders towards the mantelpiece and picks up a photo. A dark haired man with glasses, his pretty wife, their baby and a small boy wearing a little bow tie and a pair of glasses matching his father's smile back at her.

"Where do you think the family are now?" she asks, turning towards Jasper.

"Dead," he replies, starkly.

"You _can't_ believe that. You _can't_ say that," Eleanor's denial is sudden and absolute.

Because officially Jewish families were relocated to labour camps in the far reaches of the Reich. In places far, far away. But unofficially some people whispered that maybe they never got there at all. Even though to even suggest such a thing could land you in prison.

But she couldn't believe that anything so terrible could be true. Because there were millions of them, and surely millions of people couldn't just vanish?

Jasper doesn't reply, only turns away from her and heads for the kitchen.

Eleanor stands in the middle of the room, still with the picture in her hand. And she can't help but shudder.

She sets it down, feeling suddenly exhausted. "I'm tired. I'll sleep in the car," she announces.

Jasper shrugs, as he examines the cupboards carefully. "Suit yourself."

"I will," she tells him, and she does.

* * *

By the time she wakes it's well past lunch and the sun is shining gloriously on a warm summer's day.

She pulls herself upright feeling disorientated. Her hip hurts from where the stick has been poking into her and her dress is hiked up near her waist.

She pulls herself together and dusts her dress down then heads inside, wandering from room to room.

If they are going to stay here, then someone is going to have to clean this place up. Someone who is preferably not her.

The far bedroom is the only room with the door shut and she pauses by it before pushes it open and silently stepping inside.

He's crashed out lying across the double bed haphazardly, with an arm across his face.

Typically even though the bed should accommodate two he's taking up nearly all the available space, having thrown himself across it in a diagonal position.

His shirt is half undone and she can see part of his golden muscled torso along with a hint of chest hair.

She steps closer, watching him. Part of her longs to lift her hand and run it down his chest.

But she doesn't and after a moment longer she steps away, shutting the door behind her.

In the parlour, a whiskey decanter and glass sits on the table top as evidence of Jasper's presence before he went to bed.

Eleanor picks up the decanter and pours herself a glass.

And then she spies it, tucked away just underneath a bookshelf.

It's a film projector. She bends down, picks it up and puts it on the table top.

Then she heads for the car and pulls open the back door, opening her bag and searching down under her clothes to the very bottom of the case, pulling up the fake lining and digging her fingers underneath.

She extracts the small parcel wrapped in black cloth and carries it carefully inside.

She's not skilled at setting up the projector and it takes her two goes before she loops it correctly.

And then she sits herself down in an empty armchair facing a blank wall, waiting expectantly for the film to start so that she can see something she was told that _under no circumstances_ she should watch.


	11. Chapter 11

_Yip so I like writing the banter and the sexual tension too - they are so great together!_

 _And yes I think Liam will be reappearing again in the story_

 _Cannot wait for the next episode. Did you see the outfit Alex posted on instagram - I think it is her costume she is being auctioned in for the charity event. Jasper will be spitting tacks_

 _Thanks for your reviews_

* * *

Eleanor sits expectantly in the armchair waiting for the film to load and start showing.

And she wonders what is it she's going to see that the resistance are desperate to prevent falling into enemy hands. And what is so top secret that even she, a resistance courier, has been forbidden from viewing because of its contents.

The shot comes into focus and it shows a city street with paved cobblestones and a row of semi detached homes set back from a wooden fence. In the street three trucks pull up and soldiers jump out of them and rush towards the house, kicking down the doors and pulling a family out of their home.

They shove them – an elderly man and his wife and young woman who looks like their daughter and a small child into the truck.

One of the troops bang on the roof and the truck accelerates off. A few houses down the scene repeats itself in a new home.

That scene fades and now she sees a football stadium and she recognises it as London.

But inside the people aren't football supporters because there are no scarves or hats and no one is cheering.

Everyone looks terrified and they stand silently huddled together in the middle of the pitch. And there are literally thousands of them.

Around the perimeter of the field hundreds of soldiers stand to attention guarding the exits.

And the whole thing seems so sinister and terrifying that she wants to look away because she senses that something terrible is about to happen next.

And even as she's watching the scene, she's confused because she's never heard of what she's seeing actually happening.

The camera focuses in on a corner of the grounds and she recognises a familiar face and freezes.

It's him – the man who's slumped in the bedroom next door to her – Jasper Frost – and he is dressed in a Nazi officer uniform and is walking down the row of people who stand silent in front of him, watching him warily.

Then he takes a gun and presses it to the head of one of men. He falls immediately.

The camera pans out further and Eleanor gasps because her brother is standing in line next to the man. And she is beside him, clasping her brother's hand tightly and her face is a picture of terror and resolution.

And sitting in her armchair she grips the whiskey glass so tightly it almost shatters and she feels suddenly, terribly cold.

Her brother is the next in line and Jasper takes the gun and fires a shot into his head and he slumps to the ground, and she has turned towards him holding him, trying to pull him up and into her arms.

And even though there's no sound, Eleanor recoils in horror as if the shot has rung out loud and clear.

And then he takes two steps and fires at her, and she falls down dead.

And there is nothing on his face. No remorse. No emotion. Nothing to indicate she was ever anything to him other than something to be exterminated, an obstacle to be removed.

And she is still reeling from it all when in front of her she sees an aerial view of the city of London, with the Thames river snaking its way through the middle of the screen.

It's only there for a few seconds when a huge mushroom cloud plumes into the air with a fireball in the centre.

London goes up in flames.

And she knows what that was because it is the same type of mushroom cloud that was filmed over Washington before the country was invaded and defeated by German and Japanese forces.

She can't even get up from the chair to switch the film off, just sits there staring wide eyed at the screen, as her eyes fill with tears.

But London isn't destroyed, unless this is something that's only just happening right now.

And she isn't dead because she's still here living and breathing so what the bloody hell did she just see. How on earth could she see something that never happened?

Or at least hasn't happened yet.

Fear knaws at her stomach and in her bones and she thinks – is this some kind of premonition of things to come?

Because if this is the future, its truly _dreadful._

* * *

She sits for another two minutes and then pulls herself out of her chair and runs towards the car.

Her only idea is to get the hell out of here, and get the hell away from him.

Her mind races - is the reason why he won't tell her anything about who he is because he is one of _them._ Is that how be obtained the keys to her flat and why he imposed himself on her, visiting her night after night? Not out of lust but because he knew she was working for the resistance and wanted to keep tabs on her.

And now she thinks about it he looks so typically Aryan with his deep blue eyes and dark blond hair and tall, perfectly formed strong body. An SS dream.

Being here with him is not safe. He is _dangerous._

She opens the cars front door but the ignition is empty, and she starts to panic because of course he would have the bloody keys, she thinks.

She takes a deep breath in to steady herself and runs back towards the house.

When she reaches the bedroom she softly pushes the door open, then tip toes inside.

She picks up his coat and checks one pocket then another. And she wants to swear aloud because there is _no bloody key._ But she doesn't.

She turns towards the bed and narrows her eyes. The only other place the keys are going to be are in the pocket of his pants.

She takes a step towards him apprehensively because she is going to have to be oh so careful if she's to try and get them out without waking him.

She bends down and examines his pants pocket nearest to her carefully, looking for a bulge – and not the sort of bulge she's normally sees in his pants.

Wrong side. Dammit.

She turns her attention to the other pocket – the one farthest away from her by the wall, and finally she makes out the shape of the keys inside the material.

She bends over, taking care not to make a sound or even let out a breath near his face, and slides two fingers into his pocket.

She fishes inside carefully and then clasps her hand around the key, and her heart soars because now she's almost home. She's so _close._

And then before she even knows what's happened a hand clamps tightly around her wrist, and another about her waist and she is falling forward, her hair brushing against his chin and into the too blue eyes and strong brows of one Jasper Frost, who is quite possibly a Nazi agent.

"Nice try," he tells her casually. "But the keys stay with me. And if you think you're free to steal my car and run off leaving me here behind, you'd better think again Princess."

She's frozen inside his grasp and she's caught somewhere between sheer terror because this is a man who could possibly kill her and pure animal attraction because he's just too attractive and she can't even let out a sound.

And then he smirks and pulls her in closer so that she is almost splayed on top of him, and his hands span her waist with ease.

"And while you're here baby, good morning."


	12. Chapter 12

_Some good ideas about the films going on, it will be explained later on (sort of anyway)_

 _And if you're confused that's good because you should be, because the series I am drawing on is also confusing_

 _Anyway, thanks for your reviews and more story is up below now..._

* * *

She freezes for a moment and then she's screaming at him and struggling out of his grip.

"Don't touch me. Don't you touch me. Don't you _ever_ touch me," she screams, pulling herself away from him and hugging her arms to herself in the corner of the room.

And he wonders what the hell he did to cause this reaction.

He steps up out of the bed, and the second he gets up she ups and vanishes.

He follows her with steady steps and then pauses in the parlour, taking in the film projector and as soon as he sees it his bosses comment about the resistance having obtained more of the films is playing in the back of his mind.

She's skulking about in the kitchen and he follows her in and shuts the front door deliberately.

"You're not taking my keys. And you're not running off alone," he tells her and his voice is a command.

She keeps her chin high in the air, defiant but doesn't say a word.

He stalks back into the parlour and reloads the film then sits down on the armchair.

The film starts to play and black and white shadows fall on the wall in front of him, drawing him into a world where everything has gone horribly, terribly wrong.

When he sees himself on screen he does a double take and then once he sees the uniform and himself raising the gun his blood turns to ice.

He watches, unable to look away, as he draws his gun and shoots Liam. And it gets much worse because next he raises his gun and draws the trigger against her head and her slender figure sways and collapses to the ground, and feels sick with horror to think that he could do that - even in an imaginary world.

He turns his head towards her and she is standing in the doorway with a glass in her hand, transfixed, her face a mix of horror and fear. And when she meets his eyes he knows that _he_ is the cause of it, and what's more its for something he hasn't ever done.

The scene switches to London's skyline and the last image that burns his retina is of the city being enveloped in a mushroom cloud as its inhabitants are incinerated.

There's no sound from the film and everything is eerily silent until he hears the sound of glass crashing and in the doorway Eleanor is half-swaying, half clutching the doorframe.

He's over there in a second and then she is in his arms, and he's the only thing that's keeping her from falling to the floor. And in his arms she's trembling and she feels so fragile and slight and he thinks, what kind of a man would be capable of hurting her? And it burns him to think- is _he_ is that man?

He sets her down on a stool nearby, careful to avoid the broken glass beneath their feet and sits himself down next to her.

"You're one of them," she starts talking in a rush. "All this time. Every time you came over. When you were fucking me. All this time you were spying on me. Planning to turn me in," she's babbling in between breaths, gasping for air, as the tears spill out.

"When are you going to do it?" her voice breaks, and her cat green eyes stare back at him accusingly, and she's not thinking of herself she's thinking of how much pain he's going to cause Liam, and her friends – all the names they'll draw out of her under torture and the viscious punishment that will be inflicted on those she loves.

"What are you waiting for? Until you have more dirt on me, on us, so you can turn all of us in to be tortured and shot and to hurt Liam even though he knows nothing about any of this?," she's screaming now, hysterical and wild, and the tears are sliding down her face hopelessly.

He stares back at her for a moment then leans forward to push the dischevelled curls out of her face and his hand runs over a tear track, smoothing it away.

"I would never do that. I would never be that person. I would never turn you in – I won't let them hurt you baby,' his voice is fierce.

Because watching her be shot and suffer and at his own hand felt like someone had stuck a knife in his ribs and was twisting it slowly.

And the idea that he could become that person, a personification of pure evil, flips a switch in his mind.

The lines are drawn. Us versus them. State versus people. Reich versus Resistance and he knows now which side he wants to be on.

"That's _not_ how its going to be,' he tells her, his hands gripping her shoulders as his voice sounds definite.

"You can't _know_ that. You saw it _too_ ," she tells him, accusingly.

And she wants to believe him, but she still can't erase the terrible images from her mind.

"You don't understand," he says, letting her go suddenly and running a hand through his hair.

" _What_ don't I understand," she demands, looking up at him and her eyes burn into his.

The only way he can tell her, is to show her.

He takes her hand and heads for his car, pulling her along with him.

He opens the door and his hand slides underneath the footmat and under the seat.

She watches his back as he bends over.

He straightens up in front of her and hands her a small package in a cardboard box.

"What I mean Princess, is that you're not the only one with a film," he announces.


	13. Chapter 13

_More story thanks for your reviews and good to hear you're enjoying the story and you'll find out what Eleanor thinks of the films this chapter_

 _It's hard with no Jaspenor on screen and that episode was so sad. I kinda like the new Prince on the programme, I just hope they will only be friends (although now you mention it the hip flask was a little sinister)_

* * *

Eleanor falls silent as the film starts playing, taking in the scene as thousands upon thousand of people cram into a square, a space she recognises from her visits to the capital.

"Robbie," she breathes as the camera settles on his face as he starts to address the crowd, the people hanging off his every word.

The film keeps rolling and she sees the way he is inciting them, encouraging them until the crowd breaks up and heads off together chanting and moving as a mass towards the seat of government.

"What is this. What does it mean? These films are so confusing – is it saying that Robbie is going to lead the people in some kind of revolt?" Eleanor asks, frowning.

"Yeah I think that's exactly what its saying," Jasper's voice comes back sounding certain of himself.

"I still don't understand how on earth it can show things that haven't happened," she responds back, sounding confused.

"It's a fucked up world we live in Princess. And maybe the future's just the same," he tells her, getting up to pour himself a drink.

She's sitting up, and doesn't even look at him, never taking her eyes off the screen until the picture finally fades.

"If this is true, if its going to happen its going to be dangerous for Robbie," she whispers, sounding fearful, and she looks to him.

Jasper nods, settling himself down in the chair, glass in hand. "Yeah. He'll be a wanted man."

He could say a lot more but he doubts she will want to hear it.

He knows that to say things normally don't end well for the resistance is a massive understatement, and to put himself forward as their leader is to paint a massive target on his head.

He gets up and loads the next film.

"How many of these _are_ there?" Eleanor questions, and now she's stepping towards the whiskey herself and pouring herself another glass because god knows what's coming next and she wants to be prepared.

'There are more of them out there than these, from what I know," Jasper informs her.

The film starts to play and the tranquil surrounding of a park are shown in front of them.

Eleanor watches it play out for a minute.

"This film is better than the first one. It looks nice," Eleanor tells him, scrutinising the screen.

"Wait so _Hyde_ Park – is this set in the past or the future then?," she questions, puzzled.

"You'll see", Jasper replies cryptically.

She keeps watching.

Those clothes are not from the past, Eleanor decides, watching the people on screen. Because if there's one thing she knows – its' fashion.

Jasper gets up and stands by the projector and then stops it so it freezes on an image.

She stares at the screen. "What am I doing there and why do you have your arm around me?" she questions, sounding confused. "My dress is so _short_ ," she adds.

She leans forward, closer to the screen, "And the little girl-," she starts.

"Looks like you," he ends her sentence for her. "And the baby looks like me," he adds.

" _No_ ," she breathes, in denial.

And now she's peering at the screen and whichever ways she looks at it, yes the little girl does look like her because the photo she has of her when she was six with her family is the only record she has left of her father and her mother and she's stared at it so hard and so often its indelibly imprinted into her brain.

And even though she wants to say its not true, the baby definitely does have the look of the man beside her with its perfectly formed handsome features and strong eyebrows.

"It's like the film is saying that we're… married. A _family_?," she gasps, and the idea is too shocking.

"Yeah," Jasper agrees, typically economical with words.

"But that is ridiculous," Eleanor decides. "We _hate_ each other. Or at least I definitely hate you. And I would never marry someone so bloody infuriating and over sexed, who's just a smug, lazy, deceitful son of a –"

"It's like Shakespeare says, the dame doth protest too much," Jasper interrupts her, smirking.

Eleanor narrows her eyes back at him.

"How dare you," she says haughtily, taking exception to the fact he's implying she actually _likes_ him. "And Shakespeare would not appreciate the way you've mangled his words."

He shrugs then leans over and pours himself a drink. "And anyway you're wrong because I don't hate you. Despite the fact you're often infuriating, haughty, overly demanding and a total Princess, you're also sexy as hell and a bucketful of fire and I kinda like you," he announces.

She stares at him for a moment, and no she is definitely not going to blush at his halfway compliment hidden in a rash of insults.

"Well the feeling is not returned, Jaspah," she tells him, just so they're clear.

And she turns her head away from him and ends up looking at the screen again.

And in the picture they're not just a family, they're the _perfect_ family, because they look totally in love with other, and their daughter is beautiful and the baby is adorable, and he sits so happily on her knee, and she fits so perfectly into the hollow beside Jasper's chest and his arm.

And in this film the world around them is so much better than the terrible images she saw on her film.

She sits back in her seat and falls silent, and her face turns serious.

"Do you think that it means that the first film will lead to the second? That Robbie will lead the people to rebel against the Reich and then we'll end up with everything being peaceful and free?," she's trying to figure it out in her head. What on earth it all _means._

And she watches him carefully because he seems to understand the films better than her.

Maybe he knows things about them that the Reich knows from his traitorous past.

"Yeah, I think that's what its saying. But either way, we know that what you saw in your film is not the only way this could play out. So you can stop treating me like I'm a god damn murderer because it looks like I'm your future bloody husband and you ought to show me some respect," he commands, raising an eyebrow.

And once again his arrogance takes her breath away.

"One you are not my bloody future husband. And two you'll get my respect when you stop acting like a self-entitled asshole," Eleanor snaps back as quick as you please.

She continues. "And anyway what I think the films are saying it that _I_ don't matter, and _you_ don't matter. The only thing that bloody well matters is stopping London from going up in smoke and stopping them – stopping _you,"_ – she says accusingly, jabbing her finger at him – "from shooting the lot of us."

She sets her glass down on the table abruptly and steps up, "And that we have to do _everything_ to stop that world from happening," she says passionately.

"If Robbie is going to lead something – a revolt, rebellion – whatever you want to call it, we have to help him. We have to _make that happen_ ," Eleanor is pacing around, working herself up into a state.

"I think I know where Robbie is and we have to go find him," she announces next.

She doesn't actually know how to drive herself, and she would normally just take his keys again and attempt to teach herself but under the current circumstances her attempts to learn to drive could attract more attention than she wants right now.

She turns on him and her voice is demanding. "And you're going to take me there."


	14. Chapter 14

_Thanks to everyone who keeps reading and reviewing the story_

 _Yip so they're teaming up and they're sort of delightfully bad yet great together. And no she doesn't hate Jasper she just likes to think she does_

* * *

 _27 July 1961, on the road somewhere near Nailsworth, Somerset, England_

She's stubborn. He's stubborn.

And she's still not sure how after a good twenty minutes of arguing she finally managed to persuade him to take her 200 miles into South West Wales and yet, here they are, half way there already, after having compromised on the fact that they will leave in the morning because he tells her being on the road during the daytime is far less suspicious than after dark when the curfew is in force.

She's spent another night in the car, while he slept inside. And she's not sure whether it's the memory of him wearing the uniform and raising a gun to her or the way his shirt pulls tight against his perfectly sculpted chest but she still does not trust him enough to spent a night in the same room as him. And if there's a tiny part of her that wonders if maybe its not him she doesn't trust but _herself_ with him - well she's never acknowledged that before, and she's certainly not going to start now.

She has her false identity papers and she knows he does too, because she went through his glovebox last night and found no fewer than three different passes under different names with his photo on it.

They're both cheating in a high stakes game, lying to the rest of the world, and even a little to each other still.

Their drive has been uneventful so far and the gentle slope of the hills and valleys they pass through has lulled her into a sense of calm.

And he has been surprisingly tolerable so far today– dispensing with any efforts at small talk or indeed any conversation at all, and his normally inflated ego and sex drive seem to be being temporary held in check because he hasn't tried to irritate her or put his hand up her skirt.

When he pulls off the road and off into a field it breaks her train of thought.

"What are we doing now?" she questions, shaking herself back to reality.

"There's a checkpoint a half a mile ahead and we don't have the right travel passes to get into this zone," he explains, changing down a gear. "So we're taking the back way."

She wonders how it is that he knows this. Because how could be possibly remember the location of all of the checkpoints across England when there must be well over 100 of them?

"Gate," his voice is half an announcement, half an order.

She rolls her eyes because she knows he's telling her to get out and open it, and they don't have time to muck around.

"Fine," she mutters, slamming the door, and getting out to open it.

Predictably, he drives through then keeps going until he's well inside the field before stopping to wait for her.

She steps back into the car. "You know if you want me to do something wouldn't bloody hurt you to just say please, you know."

"No time," he answers, shortly, because he prefers a minimalist approach to communication.

He accelerates forward again. "Gate," he announces again, and he can't hide the slight gloating look that crosses his face.

Eleanor leans over and with great efficiency smacks him in the side of the head, then disembarks from the car and pulls open the gate.

And he makes sure to push the pedal down harder and drive a good way further before finally stopping and waiting for her to catch up, turning his head around and smirking while he watches through the back window as she makes her way back towards the car, scowling as she elegantly picks her way between cow pats.

* * *

Three hours later they finally arrive at a small cottage on a windswept and desolate corner of South Wales.

Eleanor hops out of the car and she surveys the cottage and he doesn't miss the way that her eyes light up at the sight.

"How do you know that your brother will come here?" he questions, coming to stand next to her.

She takes a breath in, and smiles, still staring at the little cottage with a soft expression on her face.

"Robbie loves this place. When we left the palace my father gave orders for us all to be split up to try and keep us safe – Robbie was sent west, I was sent south and Liam to the north though he later moved to be closer to me. For a long while I thought I'd never see either of them again and then when I was 13 Robbie turned up at our house one day, all grown up but still the same big brother I remembered from the Palace. It was like Christmas," she tells him, her eyes shining.

"He only stayed for a few hours but then that summer he and Liam and I came to this place which Robbie's family owned. He was taken in by the Honourable Sir Keith Mallory who was one of Dad's school friends and his family owned quite a few properties all over the place. We stayed for three weeks and then every summer we would come back. We could never go into the village together because it wasn't safe but it was enough just to be together again."

She continues, "I wonder if he's here already. Let's go look inside," she tells him, turning and she's almost running towards the little house.

Her enthusiasm is contagious and he's following her inside, his gun drawn just to be safe.

"Robbie. Robbie," she calls, pushing through the modest lounge towards the bedrooms.

There's no response.

"He's not here," she tells him, disappointment written all over her face.

"We'll have to wait for him. He'll be coming soon," she decides, and then proceeds to throw herself on one of the chairs, adopting a bored expression on her face.

Jasper makes his way to the kitchen, and opens a cupboard, relieved to find its well stocked with a variety of cans and other items.

* * *

He's crashed out on the sofa in the lounge a couple of hours later when he wakes to find Eleanor watching him impatiently.

She starts inching her way towards him.

"I need you to take me to the shops," she announces.

He swipes a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes, then sits up, buttoning his shirt up.

"It's fine," he tells her dismissively. "I've already been through the cupboards there's plenty to eat here. And anyway you can't go out and about unnecessarily. They'll have your description from the other guard at the castle. You're wanted," he lectures her.

She raises an eyebrow. "And are you so sure you're not?" she questions.

"Not as yet. They don't even know I'm missing yet. Called my boss yesterday to tell him I was ill and he shouldn't expect to see me for a few days," he informs her, smugly.

She makes a noise like 'hmmpf,' then whirls around and heads for the kitchen.

A minute later she comes back.

"Well in that case I need you to go to the village and get me something. And I realise this might be difficult for you but please try not to be a bastard about it because I feel kind of ill," she tells him passing him a piece of paper.

She has her chin in the air, and she's almost but not quite blushing.

Of course it would be right about now that her bloody period decides to arrive, and she would need him to go and get her the necessary things because she hadn't planned on this and she was supposed to be well and truly home by now.

He looks at the piece of paper, and something crosses his face half way between surprise and amusement.

"O-kay," is all he says, and she's taken aback he's managed to bypass any smart ass comments.

"Thank you," she says, and decides that now she can finally cut short this incredibly awkward conversation.

She turns on her heel and heads for a bedroom – the one she'd always called _her bedroom_.

* * *

It's late, well after he'd returned from the shops handing her a package without comment then turning to place some bread on the bench, and she's half way to sleep, tucked under a blanket.

The weather is always changeable here, with frequent storms coming in from the seas and abundant rain falling to give colour to the lush green fields and forests.

It's so still and all she can hear is the sound of the rain on the roof and the sound of her own breathing. She hopes that when she wakes tomorrow, Robbie will already be here.

She looks up as a slither of light appears and the door is pushed open.

Jasper pads his way over to her silently.

She can see him watching her, wondering if she is awake or asleep and then his eyes meet hers in the half light.

He sits down on the corner of the bed and his hand falls to her hair.

"Do you feel better now?," he asks, and she's surprised that he would ask her that or care about the answer.

"Yes," she whispers quietly.

"That's good," he tells her back. And then adds after a pause. "Cos I don't like it when you're unhappy Eleanor."

And it does something to her heart when he says that, and he says her name, and before she can even stop herself or think about she reaches out in the dark catches his hand in hers.

He still has one hand buried in her hair near her ear, and his other hand twines deeper into hers.

And she wonders breathlessly if he is going to kiss her.

But he doesn't. Instead he runs his thumb over her temple just near the hairline, then gets up.

"Good night Princess," he says softly, then closes the door after her, and she pulls the sheets around her tight, hugging onto his words and his touch as she curls herself into the blankets.


	15. Chapter 15

When she wakes the next morning, the scent of bacon fills the air.

There's nothing she loves more than bacon so she pulls on her dress, does up most of the buttons and heads for the kitchen.

Standing behind the frying pan, looking like hell, but radiating the same air of confidence and stability she's come to depend on is her older brother.

Eleanor rushes over to him and hugs him tightly. "I'm so glad you're ok," she tells him sincerely.

"Good to see you sis," he tells her back, ruffling her hair affectionately.

Then she sidles past the pile of bacon he's placed on a plate, snatches a rasher for herself and sits herself at the kitchen table.

She's knawing on the bacon contently and her brother gives her a disparaging look.

"Eating with your hands is so bourgeoisie," he mocks.

"And this coming from someone who works as an accountant and is shagging a barmaid," Eleanor raises an eyebrow at him and takes another bite of her bacon.

Robert turns around from the stove again, tossing a tea towel over his shoulder and she can't help but smirk at the sight.

"Speaking of common shags I saw your American this morning. I believe he's somewhere about the place now. Offered him some pancakes but he informed me he prefers flapjacks, whatever they are."

"He's not my American," Eleanor corrects him, but even as she says it she wonders if she likes the sound of that.

 _My American._

She's been savouring the normality of being back in this spot where she has so many happy childhood memories that she's loath to bring them back to the reality they're living in.

Robert does it instead, just as the said American strolls into the room again.

"Breakfast is served," Robert tells them, slapping some bacon and eggs on top of the toast he's just buttered.

They stand up to collect their plates, then sit down at the table and Robert starts talking at them.

"The Fuhrer has lung cancer," he announces, and Eleanor shoots him a startled glance across the table. Jasper on the other hand doesn't bat an eye.

"Terminal lung cancer," Robert adds, slicing a piece of bacon and putting it in his mouth.

"That hasn't been announced," Eleanor replies, and she's confused because at least twice a week they see footage of him inspecting the troops or the Hitler Youth, receiving flowers from children at some event or another or less often relaxing at his Berghof, and he certainly doesn't look any worse than normal, vile little man that he is.

"It is being kept from the people because they fear it would destablise the Reich if people knew," Robert tells them.

"The images being broadcast on our screens for the past few months have all been old footage, never screened before," Jasper announces as though this is obvious. "It's easy enough to spot if you look close enough. Nowdays his hair is more white and his hands shake more than in the ones they're screening now."

Robert nods in agreement. "The resistance has been working on a plan," he continues and his tone becomes deadly serious.

"When the Fuhrer dies that will be the point at which the Reich will be most vulnerable. Himmler and Goring and some of the other senior politicians have all been waiting for this for years. They all fancy themselves as the new Fuhrer. Their power struggle could create a leadership vacuum. And the best chance we have had in years to stage an uprising," Robert tells them, looking from one to the other.

"Our plans have been somewhat hampered by the fact that many of our members were recently imprisoned by the Reich in a sting. But thanks to you and your friends sis a half a dozen of us managed to escape. And it falls to us to put our plans into action so we're ready when the time comes. And its coming soon," he announces significantly.

Eleanor pushes herself up from the table abruptly and pours herself a cup of tea.

And Jasper doesn't miss the way her hands shake as she does it and he can guess at the inner turmoil she's going through as she's caught between wanting her brother to fulfil his destiny and make the world safe and her overwhelming fear that at the danger he'll expose himself to.

Eleanor sits herself back down at the table, takes a sip of tea then sets her cup down on the saucer with a rattle.

"We saw some of the films, Robbie. Showing terrible things, London wiped out by a bomb, the Reich killing lots of people. And you – there was one of you leading the people at a demonstration against the state," she tells him.

She reaches over and grasps his hand, "You have your destiny, Robbie and you can't fight it. I just wanted you to know that whatever happens, I love you. And that we want to help you take them down," she adds and her face is set with determination.

"I love you too," Robbie tells her back, squeezing her hand and Eleanor's heart feels like its breaking a little bit more. _If I lose him -_ she thinks.

"I have one of the films too," Robbie adds. "Tim has another, we try to separate them for safekeeping. And the films are going to be key to the uprising. They'll show us how we can beat them," he tells them.

And now Eleanor begins to understand that maybe the films aren't foretelling the future, maybe they are showing them the way forward, the path to a better world.

"What did your film show, Robbie?" she questions.

A shadow crosses his face. "It's not pleasant viewing," he says, tight lipped.

"What happened?" Eleanor asks again, persisting.

But Robert just shakes his head and refuses to say anything more.

And now Eleanor leans forward and turns the hem of her skirt up, then picks at the stitching with her fingernail. It takes a few moments to unravel and then she extracts a small square of paper with an address on it.

"If the films are critical to this then we'll need to visit this address," she announces. "We'll take the car and go tomorrow," she says, looking to Jasper and her announcement is nothing less than another order, the same as she dished out the day before yesterday.

"Len, I don't want you caught up in this," Robert tells her, warningly. "You need to leave today and stay the hell out of this. It's dangerous."

Jasper nods in agreement beside her, and Eleanor looks from one to the other, casting them both exasperated looks.

Eleanor stands up and puts her hands on her hips. "You're being ridiculous Robbie," she informs him dismissively.

"We're all in this together whether we like it or not and we all have a part to play to make this happen. And if the films are key then we have to get hold of them and I have the address we need. So you make your arrangements here and Jasper and I will take the car and go. I'm sure between Jasper' dubious talents," - she casts him a withering glance – "and the resistance network we can arrange the necessary fake passes."

"And Jasper and I shall find out what the Man in the High Castle and his films have to say," she finishes, folding her arms and giving them both a look that dares either of them to disagree with her.


	16. Chapter 16

_There will be Jaspenor action (is there a word for that Jaspention? rhymes with suspension?) in the story, you just gotta hang in there. And the story is taking quite a while to tell cos its quite complicated and I always end up writing things that were supposed to be short into longer things so anyway_

 _Thanks for the continuing reviews and reads on this little journey_

* * *

It's only a two hour drive to Pembroke but for Eleanor its still nerve wracking.

Their route is carefully mapped to avoid any checkpoints, but that's not what she's worried about.

It's getting on to the ferry that she's concerned about.

When they check in, the girl behind the counter practically ignores Eleanor in a rush to make sure that 'sir' has a window seat so as to 'get the best view of the attractions,' she fauns.

"Getting him the seat with a view of the coastline isn't going to obtain you a view of his _attractions_ ," Eleanor informs her snappily, picking up her ticket. Naturally she's relegated to an aisle seat beside him, probably next to some screaming kid she thinks sourly. And she a born _Princess_ , she adds in her head.

"Don't mind her," Jasper tells the check in girl, bestowing her with a breezy smile. "She doesn't cope well with jealousy. Never has," he adds. "Isn't that right baby?," he turns around to face her with his ticket in his hand, obviously baiting her.

Eleanor rolls her eyes, then walks on ahead. "And what exactly am I supposed to be jealous of here?," she questions over her shoulder." My point was merely why should you get the best seat just because the check in girl fancies shagging you?"

Jasper shrugs. "She probably finds me irresistibly handsome," he reasons. "She can't help having good taste."

"And yet I somehow manage quite well to resist you," Eleanor replies crossing her arms.

"For now, baby, but sooner or later you'll slip up. And anyway I'm not denying you a window view. If you want one you can just sit on my knee."

Eleanor raises an eyebrow, and then leans over and grabs his ticket without further announcement.

"I'll have the window seat on the way there. You can have it on the way back. That's fair," she tells him, correcting the injustice the check in girl did her. It's only a pity she can't correct the inflated ego he's gotten as a result of that same _misallocation._

She dips into her purse and pulls out her passport and papers and waits while Jasper does the same, and its at this point that her nerves kick in again.

Jasper bends down and grabs their suitcase in one hand and reaches for her hand in the other and they make their way to the border control counter.

And if she's afraid, which she is, she hides it underneath a confident smile.

They wait until its their turn to present their papers.

"Ausweis," the soldier commands and Eleanor steps forward first to hand over her passport and pass.

The guard is in his fourties, with a beer gut and a ruddy complexion.

"You are travelling to Ireland, Miss?" he asks. "Why are you undertaking this journey?"

Eleanor nods, smiling. "Yes its for a friend's wedding."

He looks over her papers carefully and she's watching his every expression because if there's a single mark out of place on the forged papers the resistance has obtained for them there's no doubt they're going to prison.

"Where is the wedding?" the guard enquires still examining her papers.

"In Waterford." she replies back. "The wedding is tomorrow."

"Everything seems to be in order. Don't break too many hearts tomorrow then," he adds, winking at her as he passes her papers back to her.

Eleanor grins. "I don't know, what's a wedding for if its not to get drunk and break a few hearts," she replies flippantly. "Though I supposed my fiancé will disagree," she adds, turning her neck to look towards Jasper.

The soldier chuckles. "Quite right miss. Quite right," he agrees.

Jasper passes his passport up for inspection and he gets through without any further questions and then they're ready to board and head west to Ireland.

* * *

They leave at 11 and its nearly four before they arrive at Rosslare on the coast of Ireland.

When Eleanor wakes she has her head buried against Jasper's shoulder and the zip from his jacket has left a faint track mark in her cheek.

One side of her face is flushed from leaning against his chest, which radiates a certain warmth even through his shirt.

She rubs her face sleepily and sits up, trying to get a glimpse of the Irish coast.

"I like the view," Jasper informs her.

And she's looking out the window, trying to see if Ireland looks different to Britain because Ireland is free, has never been part of the Reich, and things must be different here and she can't help but search for evidence of it with her eyes.

"It's pretty," Eleanor agrees, because the countryside looks lush and green and romantic.

She turns back to Jasper and finds he's not looking at the window at all, he's looking at her, and from his smirk and the direction of his gaze she's finally worked out what he's been looking at.

Because now she notices that somewhere in the course of falling asleep against the window and then somehow shifting to bury herself in Jasper's chest her top has slipped right down so that he's copping an eyeful of her cleavage. And even though its less than ample its enough to distract him from looking at her face, and for her to abruptly hike up her top, while giving him an irritated glare.

"Yep. It's the gentle rolling hills that really do it for me," Jasper adds, smirking.

"They're no longer in view, I think you'll find," Eleanor corrects him, folding her arms across her chest.

He leans forward. "You know you've got my zipmarks on your face," he points out helpfully, examining her face.

"Occupational hazard with you unfortunately," Eleanor informs him, and Jasper's face breaks into a grin as he nods in agreement. "The best kind of hazard," he agrees smugly.

* * *

It takes another three hours by the time they catch a bus, get off the said bus, then get on another bus and walk a half mile to reach a non descript house in a non descript area of Waterford.

Eleanor checks the address again carefully as they stand outside of it looking.

"I thought it would actually be a castle," she frowns.

"That would be kind of conspicuous," Jasper points out. "Anyway we should go inside. If we stand around here too long the neighbours will start to stare."

And right at that moment Eleanor spies a movement in the corner of her eye as the lace drapes in the house next door twitch and half of the face of an elderly old woman peers back at her, inquisitively.

Once they get to the door, Jasper prowls around looking in through the side window then decides to rings the bell. And Eleanor doesn't miss the way his hand hovers near the holster tucked out of view inside his jacket.

After a moment the door is drawn open a few inches to the limits of the chain attached to it and a wrinkled face of an mature man with white hair and glasses pops his head around the side of the door and regards them with bright eyes.

"Princess Eleanor. Mr Frost. So pleased to finally make your acquaintance," he announces as if he's been expecting them all along.


	17. Chapter 17

_Yip Eleanor is putting a lot of effort into convincing herself she doesn't like Jasper - its like he says 'The Dame doth protest too much' haha. Because yes they are cute together._

 _So now more will be explained about the films this chapter. Hope you like it!_

* * *

Jasper's hand slides to his gun as soon as their names come out of the old man's mouth.

"How do you know our names?" he questions, brows drawn together and immediately suspicious.

"I know a lot of things Mr Frost. And please put your gun away. It's totally unnecessary," he adds, chiding him like a grandfather telling off a young child.

Eleanor looks over to Jasper and raises her eyebrows, waiting for him to do as he was told. And after a minute he does just that.

"Good," says the old man with a smile. "Now I can offer you tea and cake if you would like to come inside. I imagine you're here about the films."

And Jasper's eyes rise up again but Eleanor just nods and follows him inside. "Exactly."

Jasper follows a moment later, still not convinced everything is totally in order.

Their host gestures for them to sit down at the kitchen table.

"So you'd like to look through the films would you?" he questions from the kitchen sink, repositioning his glasses which have slipped down his nose.

Eleanor blinks, wondering if he can actually read their minds because neither of them have explained who they are or why they're here yet he seems to already know.

"How do you know what we want before we've said anything?" Jasper questions, watching him carefully.

"Let's just say I know enough about you to be able to work it out," the old man replies, a response which doesn't answer anything.

"Tea?" he questions them both politely.

Eleanor nods, "White no sugar please. He doesn't drink tea," she nods her head towards Jasper. "Being an American he's not been exposed to the trappings of a civilized life," she adds, helpfully.

Jasper flashes her a look of irritation, but she seems quite at home here, ignoring his look and settling herself back in the seat.

A minute later he hands Eleanor a tea cup, then places a few slices of cake in front of them both.

"Ooh, chocolate. I love chocolate," Eleanor enthuses, smiling happily, as she reaches for a piece. "Will you have some Jasper?"

She turns to Jasper who still has the permanent frown placed on his face and doesn't even bother to reply to her.

"When we leave here we're going to need to work on your manners, Jasper. They are _dreadful_ ," Eleanor announces, before taking a bite of the cake.

"Where do the films come from?," Jasper gives her an irritated look once again and decides to skip the small talk and cut to the chase.

The old man seats himself on the table opposite them and folds his hands together.

"The castle where your brother was being held wasn't always a prison," he starts, addressing Eleanor.

He takes a sip of tea and Eleanor follows suit, lifting the tea cup daintily.

"It used to belong to a very old, very distinguished English family. Right up until the war. Right until their only son and heir who was in the RAF was killed over the channel. After that there was only his elderly mother left. With no money left and no one to keep the castle running she sold it in 1943. To my father. Even though I'm sure it grated on her to have to sell the family property and the silver to a Yank."

"Yes well I can see that would be extremely irritating. She was probably imagining her home being taken over by some trigger happy, coffee drinking, gum chewing uncouth foreigner who would be putting his feet up on her expensive furniture and constantly mispronouncing words like tomato and potato," she offers, mimicking the American pronunciation as she clinks her tea cup back on to her saucer with a sly grin on her face and steals a glance at Jasper out of the corner of her eye. He doesn't look impressed.

The old man grins back at her conspiratorally. "Yes that's exactly what she thought of my father. Didn't mind me so much seeing as I was born over here thankfully."

"But anyway, as it worked out my father sadly died six months later of a heart attack and I inherited the castle. And along with the castle, I discovered one day while rummaging around in the cellar that I had inherited a film library. How they got to be there and how they were made I'll never know. Only that they were there," he tells them.

Eleanor tries to imagine a younger version of this man as the King of the Castle where her brother was held. Maybe with a tweed suit and a smoking pipe striding around the high towers, looking down on his staff working in the gardens below. Her mouth quirks at the thought.

"Anyway that castle was only in my possession for two years before the Reich decided to repossess it," he tells them both.

"You're Jewish?" Eleanor's eyes widen, because she can't recall ever meeting a Jew before. They were all deported elsewhere while she was just a child.

He nods.

"They got the castle but after I'd watched the films I decided they could not fall into their hands. Even before they came for me I knew that I'd have to go on the run to survive. And I've been running ever since. The longest I've stayed anywhere since then has been maybe four months," he lets out a weary sigh and Eleanor thinks that the toll that life has taken on him is showing.

If he's been on the run for maybe fifteen years now and is wanted by the Reich its astonishing he's still alive, Jasper thinks.

"I've been releasing the films into the hands of those who oppose their regime," the old man adds.

Eleanor leans forward. "We saw some of the films, but they're confusing. What do they mean? How do we know which films are the truth and which are lies?"

She's watching him intently, a frown on her face.

"The films are different versions of what could be, how the world could turn out. No one knows what will be, they only show what _could_ be," he says, leaning back in his seat.

Eleanor puts her cup and saucer down in front of her and pushes it to the side. "What I think the films are telling us is that my brother Robert - Prince Robert - is going to lead a rebellion against the Reich which will lead to a better world," she states boldly.

She looks to the old man, waiting for some sign of confirmation or denial.

But his face gives nothing away and instead he gets to his feet. "Let me show you something," he tells them both.

He leads them into a library packed with films, each one of them carefully numbered.

He turns to them both. "Everything that is needed to defeat the Reich is inside this room," he tells them both significantly.

Then he steps over and gestures to the shelf.

"If you watch these they will provide the information you need to turn the people against the Reich, remove the regime from power and begin a new world," he says, setting a film onto the projector. "Sit down."

They do as they're told. The couch is narrow and they're squished a little too close together and Jasper takes the liberty of putting an arm around Eleanor's shoulder and she's too focused on whatever's coming next to even try and shift.

He picks out two films off the shelf and loads one. The first one they've seen before because it's the one of them in the park.

"We know this one," Eleanor tells him confidently. "We're in it."

And he smiles to himself, nodding back at her.

He strikes a match and lights up a pipe and they watch the rest of the film in silence.

When it ends he steps forward and loads another which shows a classroom with little children listening to their teacher read a story. They look happy and enthusiastically put their hands up to answer their teachers questions. And in this school there is a boy with a Jewish kippah cap amongst them, listening too and putting his hand up and they know that this is not from this world because that would never be allowed to happen.

The scene shifts to the street outside and it looks pretty and is filled with well kept homes on suburban streets.

The old man stands up and stops the film then runs it on for a few seconds and pauses it again.

"Can you see it?" he asks, raising his eyebrows and looking back at him.

They look back at him with a puzzled expression.

"Look there. In the bottom right of the screen, just next to the wall," he steps forward to point it out on screen.

"It's us," Eleanor states, because in the corner of the screen in the distance there's a small image of them both holding hands, walking down the street.

The man nods and adjusts his glasses. "Yes," he confirms. "It's both of you, the same as it is in the other films where Britain is free."

Eleanor blinks.

The man is watching them both silently, waiting as though for something.

But they don't get it.

"Don't you see?" he asks impatiently, exhaling from his pipe. " _Prince_ _Robert_ isn't the key. _You_ are the key. Both of you – together."

"What do you mean?," Eleanor asks, startled.

"What?" Jasper demands at the same time.

The old man adopts on a laboured expression, taking on the air of an aged lecturer explaining basic mathematics to a class of slow learners.

"What I mean is that I have over a hundred films here. But only six where Britain is free. Prince Robert is in two of them. Prince Liam is in another. But you two -," he points his pipe at them both, "are in every single one of them."

"And if you're in the films but apart or missing altogether things turn out badly. Very badly indeed," he adds with stern emphasis.

"It's only when you're together – a couple, married, in love, whatever," – he fires the terms hapharadly as he waves his pipe in the air – "that Britain is shown to be free from the Nazis. Somehow you two – or something about you two together – will change the future."


	18. Chapter 18

_Aww thanks for the love everyone. Yes Jaspenor is the KEY..._

 _And don't worry there will be more unlocking of the Jaspenor key in the future...ha ha_

 _And also this chapter might be somewhat upsetting_

* * *

The man looks from one to the other of them.

Jasper fixes his with a hard stare, as if he's deeply suspicious of him.

Beside him, Princess Eleanor's opens her mouth as if to say something, but no words come out, and shuts her mouth abruptly again.

"I just don't think that one thing, one detail as insignificant as who is with who, could really change the course of history," Jasper says, sceptically.

Eleanor's still not up to speaking but she glances quickly at Jasper, and then nods in agreement.

The man raises an eyebrow and smiles back at them. "It seems odd, yes, I agree that that is the thing that everything hinges on. And yet it's true," he states simply.

He speaks again. "You came here to look at the films and that is what you must do. There's no use in me trying to persuade you to my point of view. The films go back nearly twenty years and once you watch them you'll see that what was once the future has now come to pass. Then you will understand. I have spare copies of all of them so while you are here you are welcome as my guests and you must take whichever films you need with you."

"Thank you," Eleanor speaks up finally, because regardless of whether or not what he says about them is true, one thing she knows for sure is that they need to see the films. The films can help them overthrow the Reich.

He man nods his head towards then. "I'll leave you now. And I realise all this may come as a shock to you, but however you may feel, you must understand that destiny is not an easy thing to avoid."

He steps out of the room and shuts the door after him.

And they're left alone in there together, and Eleanor is too afraid to even breathe, let alone look at Jasper, who's sitting beside her, the warmth from his thigh resting against hers, and his arms still draped around her.

For a minute there's silence, with just the sound of the clock ticking on the mantelpiece, and then Jasper steps up and picks out a half dozen films, places them on the floor by the projector and loads one of the reels.

Then he picks up a notepad which is sitting on the small desk by the window along with a pen.

He sits down on the sofa, and leans over to play the film.

"I can take the notes," Eleanor tells him, already having worked out his system, she leans over and takes the notepad and pen from him.

"Read me the number," she says.

"54," he announces.

Eleanor sits primly with a pen in hand, poised above the notepad and waits for the film to roll on expectantly.

The film starts to play and they see under grey skies a train travelling through snow covered fields. It is a long train with over a dozen carriages.

After a minute the train pulls up in a station in the countryside. Soldiers are waiting on the platform and open the carriages and people start to pour out onto the platform.

There are hundreds of people. By the time they are all out there must be well over a thousand of them, all looking terrified, huddled together in fear. There are all ages, little children, babies in their mother's arms, old people, strong, strapping men, girls her own age.

And every one of them wears the Jewish star on the arm.

The guards start to yell and push them with the butt of their rifles and then everyone is marching away from the platform and through a set of large gates, that open as if on cue, with 'Arbeit macht Frei' on them, and fences with barbed wire.

Eleanor stops scribbling for a moment and gazes back at the film. "This work camp is nothing like the ones on TV. It looks _awful_ ," she says, because in the films they see on the news everyone looks happy and well fed as they work in open fields overseen by benevolent guards.

"The Reich only permits you to see what they want you to see," Jasper replies, tight lipped.

Eleanor looks back at the screen at the crowd still marching in black and white across a stark army camp with wooden barracks peppering the spaces.

"Oh my God," she murmers. "That's them, do you see it?" she's leaning forward and pointing at the screen. "That's the family from the house. From the photo. The little boy with the glasses and the baby and the mother," she breathes.

Jasper stares at the screen until he spots them. "Yes," he nods in agreement. And even he, who normally doesn't permit himself the luxury of emotions over anything or anyone, feels a quiver of fear run through him when he looks at the little boy from the photo, his chubby face innocent of the danger ahead.

"I can't see the father though," Eleanor adds. "Maybe he's somewhere else."

She puts her head down and makes some more notes then looks back up.

"Why are the guards making them all undress?," she wonders, sounding puzzled. "There's snow on the bloody grounds. They must be insane!"

And Jasper's doesn't answer, but is just staring at the film with a fixed expression, because he thinks he knows what's coming next, and he doesn't like it one bit.

The mass of white, shivering bodies are now being herded into a building, with guards with guns prodding them towards the doors. Little children cling to their mothers, wrapping their arms around their necks or around their legs with fearful expressions on their faces. Some people are panicking and screaming.

"Are they making them shower?" Eleanor tries again, attempting to figure out what on earth she is seeing, because that would make sense but somewhere inside of her she senses that something is very, very wrong here because the people look terrified, and one even tries to run away and is promptly shot dead by the guards.

And she's fixed on the little boy with the glasses and his mother with her baby in her arms. And he doesn't look afraid at all, holding his mother's hand quite cheerfully and following her in to the building.

Jasper finally speaks. "It's not a shower. They're gassing them," he says.

Eleanor drops her pen and looks over to him, open mouthed and wide eyed. His face looks dark, and there's something dangerous in his expression.

"But, all those people! And the little children! The little boy with the glasses from the house-," Eleanor protests, trailing off, horrified by the idea that they could all be murdered in cold blood.

She looks back at the screen and it's only a few seconds but there's a wide shot of other prisoners piling bodies from out of the building onto carts. Just dozens and dozens of cold, white bodies deprived of life by the murderous regime they are living under.

Eleanor's still staring at the film when stops and then after it runs out she's left staring at a blank wall in silence.

She feels suddenly sick, and scrambles to her feet. Jasper puts a hand on her arm to steady her but she pushes him away and makes for the door.

* * *

Five minutes later he finds her sitting on the back steps of the house.

She's staring into the garden, slender arms wrapped about her long legs, smoking a cigarette.

He sits down next to her, uninvited, and doesn't say a word.

She takes a drag of the cigarette then exhales.

"I don't know if I can do this thing with the films if they're all as terrible as that one," she says, and he doesn't miss the way that the cigarette trembles in her hands.

"Or if I'm cut out to be your future bloody wife," she turns to him and looks him in the eye for the first time, and he sees now that she's been crying.

And she's not even joking about the idea anymore, because her voice is completely serious.

"This whole thing with the films and the future and the past and us is _madness_ ," she tells him, sounding half angry and half despairing. He thinks she's been fighting a battle with herself and losing. "I keep trying to wrap my head around it and when I think I've got it, it just explodes again."

"And what if we do get together like he's telling us to and we can't make it work out, then its all on us, then we're responsible for every dreadful thing that happens to everyone else. Then it makes _us_ the murderers!" she exclaims, and her voice breaks and she's crying again.

Jasper leans over and takes her cigarette from her hands and stubs it out on the paving stones. He pushes her hair back from where it fallen over her face and traces his hand over her tear stained cheek. Then he leans in to her and kisses her, and its not wild and passion filled the way he usually kisses her, but tentative and gentle, like he's just discovered something that's precious to him and he doesn't want to break it.

"We'll never know unless we try. And I don't like to fail at anything," he tells her, sounding sure of himself. And then he smiles at her, still with his hand wrapped round her neck and something about his confidence is contagious because then she's smiling back at him.

He stands up and leans down to offer her his hand.

"So is this former blackmailer, Nazi agent and wanted criminal now reformed into some kind of bloody gentleman?," Eleanor questions, raising an eyebrow as she places her hand into his and lets him help her to her feet.

He smirks. "I can make you moan louder than any god damn _gentleman_ can, Princess," he tells her, as if the term gentleman is some kind of insult.

And she turns away from him and almost blushes.

" _Modesty_ never was your forte, regrettably Jasper," she tells him instead, over her shoulder as she takes a step towards the library, steeling herself for the task ahead because no matter how terrible or shocking there's no way around it.

They have to get through these films.


	19. Chapter 19

Jasper glances at his watch. It's past one in the morning and ten minutes since the Princesses pen slipped out of her hand and her writing pad slid over her lap and her head fell back into the couch as her eyes closed shut.

She looks like sleeping beauty and what's more she actually looks peaceful. He doesn't want to disturb her because its been a hell of day for both of them.

They've now gotten through 52 films and most of them made for grim viewing. There were more films showing how enemies of the state and jews were treated, some look to a bleak future, and a few show things that never were. They watched another of the future films where now instead of being euthanised people with disabilities are being helped to live full lives. And Eleanor even smiles when she sees her brother Liam checking over one of the dogs which guide a blind lady. And in the backround he can see himself and her playing with a new puppy.

And even though its late he wants to, has to, push on, because they need to leave tomorrow and they need to view all the films by then.

The old man is a good host and brought them both soup and bread. And then later he turned up with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses and Jasper still can't help but wonder if he can actually read his mind, because he seems to anticipate what he wants before he even knows it.

He offered up his guest room too, but even when it got late Eleanor was still her usual stubborn self and she wouldn't give up until her own exhaustion got the better of her.

It's only when he's on to his third glass of the night and a new film is rolling that he realises what he's looking at.

Because he recognises the man in the film as her father, the former King Simon. He's being held somewhere ancient and gloomy, with high stone walls. There's a shot of him walking along a high tower and staring down at the ground below, brooding. And now he can see the full shot Jasper recognises this as one of London's landmarks, the Tower of London. This is where the King must have been kept after Britain lost the war, he reasons.

The next image he sees is of a dark room and inside it he can make out a form inside a bed. The door opens and a crack of light enters the dimly lit room. Two men in soldiers uniforms enter the room silently. One lifts the pillow and places it over the sleeping figures face and presses it down heavily.

The man awakes and starts to struggle. He is fighting to push him off and he is strong and he thinks for a moment he may succeed. But then the other soldier steps towards the bed and grabs his arms and holds them down firmly.

The man continues to struggle for a minute and then his movements slow until gradually he lies still.

Jasper sits back in his chair, feeling numb and he's suddenly glad that Eleanor is unconscious beside him instead of sitting up and watching the screen because he's quite certain that what he's just seen was the murder of the former King.

He gets up and removes the film and places it in the pile on his left because one day – and he's not sure when that day will be – because its not today and its not tomorrow – but one day he'll have to show her that film. And her brothers. He just can't bring himself to do it now because he knows it will crush her to see it.

He bends over and reaches for the blanket and pulls it up around her, carefully covering her where she is, half slumped against the pillows on the couch, and shifts her legs into a more comfortable lying position.

And then he loads another film and runs a hand across his face tiredly, weary of these films and their terrible contents.

But still he keeps going.

* * *

When he wakes its light again, and Eleanor is sitting up beside him, staring at the screen, scribbling on her note pad in between glances.

Jasper glances at his watch and finds its already 8.37am, and curses because they've lost so much time since he fell asleep, he thinks some time around 2.30.

In the morning, Eleanor looks far more put together than last night and seems to have steeled herself to the task at hand.

In his chair Jasper runs a hand through his hair and pulls his shirt together to do up the top button, and much to her annoyance Eleanor finds her gaze momentarily straying from the films because arse that he may be, that sexy, stubbly bastard always looks ridiculously hot when he wakes.

Worse luck yet, he catches her leering at him, and smirks back at her. "Like what you see Princess?," he teases, lazily running a hand over his chest.

Eleanor shakes her head because she might be down but she'll never admit defeat.

"No I was simply about to observe that while you've been snoring and inconveniently draping your legs all over _my_ coffee table," she tells him as though it should be abundantly clear that the coffee table is for her exclusive use, "I've watched another nine films," she tells him hautily. "And had breakfast," she adds.

Jasper raises an eyebrow. "It's a good start to the day," he tells her, then stretches lazily and comes over and stands in front of her, studying her face.

"You know I can't see the film when you do that," Eleanor points out, lifting her eyes to meet his.

"The eyeliner is good, but I like the eyes better," he decides.

And she can't stop the flutter that his words create in her stomach, and she thinks yes it was worth the ten minutes she spent this morning feathering eyeliner onto her eyelids in subtle strokes.

She bites down on a smile, just as he gets out of her face and wanders off to the kitchen to find something to eat.

* * *

Eleanor has already resolved that today she is not going to cry – no matter what she sees in the films because the first film they saw yesterday was not the last to make her cry.

Its supremely irritating that Jasper doesn't have the same problem and she thinks that maybe the Nazis tried out some kind of mind control programming on his so that underneath he's actually a stony faced robot. She mulls that over for a while and then concedes that _no_ – that can't be the case because just occasionally she's seen flashes of humanity in him and even a suggestion that he may actually care about her.

They're half way through the remaining pile of films they had to watch this morning, when Eleanor sits back frowning.

"Just think how different things could have been if they'd actually managed to kill him," she says, frowning. "Maybe none of the things that followed would have happened."

They're just finished watching film number 27, which Eleanor thinks is set just after the post war years and showed one of Hitler's personal guards successfully assassinating him.

"That did almost happen," Jasper tells her. "There was a shot fired but he missed. And then there was a show trial and the guard was executed. But yes, maybe if he had succeeded we wouldn't be living in such a fucked up world now," he concedes, getting up to load another film.

"I don't remember that at all," Eleanor says, puzzled.

"You wouldn't. It was 1946. You were just a child," he tells her, shortly. Because she would have been all of six or seven at the time.

He on the other hand, was thirteen and old enough to remember reading it in the newspaper and learning at school about how the Reich had successfully eradicated the traitorous guard.

Eleanor's thinking about that time and what happened in February 1947 – something she does remember even though she was just a child.

She starts, "If he had managed to kill Hitler then maybe my Dad-" her voice cracks and she breaks off and she can't continue because she promised herself she wasn't going to cry today.

Jasper looks at her sharply, and he's thinking of the film that he saw last night, that she doesn't know exists.

"Yeah, maybe," is all he says. But he keeps watching her out of the corner of his eye as the next film starts to play.

* * *

It's 1.15pm by the time they've finished all the films.

Jasper has catagorised them into 2 piles – 14 films they're taking back with them as evidence and the rest will stay here.

As if on cue, the old man turns up holding two brown paper bags with and a smile on his face.

"Sandwiches and a little snack to keep you going," he announces.

And Eleanor goes over to him and then they're chatting like old friends, and he wonders if its possible that they managed to strike up a friendship in the course of maybe fifteen minutes over breakfast this morning.

* * *

It's not until they get outside that he decides to tell her.

She has the bus timetable out and is flicking through it trying to find the time the connecting bus to meet the first one they need to catch to take them back to the ferry.

"I'm not going back on the ferry with you," Jasper announces, right then.

Eleanor looks up, startled. "What? But that was the plan we agreed. How are you-?"

He cuts her off. "I'll take the films back with me. But its too dangerous to transport them on the ferry. They search most passengers and if they find them we're both dead," he tells her, not pulling any punches.

"Oh," Eleanor replies back, considering. "How are you going to get back then?"

"I've been making arrangements to come back with a fishing trawler, the resistance has some contacts here in Ireland who're wiling to take me," he says.

Eleanor's silent for a moment, a frown crossing her face. "But isn't that dangerous too?" she ventures, because there are patrols operating near the coast and if he gets _caught_ , who knows what will happen.

"It's not without risks," Jasper concedes, but he looks like he's not prepared to be argued with. "But it's a much safer option for you to go back alone, with no connection to the films."

"But what if something happens to you? If they caught you that would be terrible and I would miss-" it slips out before she can even think or stop herself. "I would miss you," she finishes, self-consciously, because she's already gone too far to take it back.

He's watching her closely and then he steps into her and cups her cheek. "I'll miss you too Princess," he says softly. "But I'll be back," he says confidently. "Should be sometime around midnight tonight."

And then before she has a chance to respond, he turns and strides off in the opposite direction.

She's left by herself, watching the back of his head as he retreats and somehow even though he's still in her sights, she's missing him already.


	20. Chapter 20

She rings Robbie at the Ferry terminal and two hours later he meets her at the bus stop in an ancient truck.

After a long and nerve-wracking day he seems to have enough common sense not to ask her about Jasper again after she snaps something about him making his own way back when he asks the first time.

When she pushes open the door to the cottage, she finds there are no less than five extras who have appeared as if from no where, lounging all over the sofa, legs on the coffee table as they peer at maps and have animated discussions amongst themselves.

They all talk too loud, and take up too much room in this too small little house, and she is simply _not_ dealing with them right now. Even the best looking one who's giving her the once over, when normally she would step up at least a little and put on something skimpy and strut around a little just to get him worked up.

She opens the door to her room and scowls at the sight that there's another of them sprawled across her bed, with his boots still on if you please. Why the hell did her bloody brother let him sleep in _her room_ when he knew she was coming back tonight.

Eleanor slams the door deliberately. "Get out of my room," Eleanor orders, loudly.

He's only just stirring and is not moving fast enough and she walks over to him and follows it up with a sharp jab to the ribs. "I said get out of my room," she tells him again, folding her arms across her chest and staring him down.

It works and a minute later he's on his feet then picking up his discarded jacket and scurrying out of her room.

It's 11.10pm by the time she undresses and slides into bed, but midnight still seems like hours away.

* * *

When she wakes the next morning the house is still quiet, and for a moment she just lies there, snugly half asleep still until she remembers that he is supposed to be back now.

Well back because she was definitely awake at midnight, waiting for him to return but somewhere in the night, she thinks it must have been about 1, her exhaustion overcame her and she fell asleep.

She shoves aside the blankets and pulls herself out of bed, and patters down the hallway, pulling open Robbie's door and peering inside.

And normally she would find the sight of her brother sharing a bed with a burly Scotsman silently amusing, but she knows its due to the fact that there are eight people in this house now and only three beds and she's more concerned with her present mission than waking up Robbie to give him shit over his sleeping situation.

She shuts the door and makes her way to the lounge, where two bodies are sprawled out on the sofa and another three are on the floors. But _no Jasper_.

And even as she's breaking into a run to head outside and see if his car is there, the panic is starting to rise, because what if there is no Jasper at all? What is he has been captured? What if today was the last time she will see him ever again?

* * *

She's lying face down on her bed, and has been there for a good hour when someone enters the room.

"Get out of my room," she orders, because if its one of Robbie's hangers on, whatever it is they've come to tell her she doesn't want to know.

But its not.

"I've rung Ireland about him," Robbie tells her, sitting down beside her and laying a hand on her back, carefully. "They've rung their contact who was going out with the boat but they're not answering currently, but they'll keep trying to get hold of them."

And trust him to know what this is about before she even says.

"There could be lots of reasons why he's not back yet," Robbie tells her gently. "Maybe the wind was too strong or the tide too low, maybe there was a problem with the boat or they got some kind of warning." he adds, firmly.

And Eleanor finally turns her face towards him and its tear stained and smudgy from mascara.

She gives him a long look.

"I think I'm in love with him Robbie. And I don't know why because he's the _worst_ possible choice and I don't even know if he feels the same way," she confesses and she sounds utterly miserable.

Robert sits back and gives her the same look he used to give her when she was six and used to steal Liam's toy soldiers and stand them on the plates soon to be occupied by various dignitaries at the carefully decorated state banqueting table her mother had ordered arranged.

"Well that is a fine fettle of fish, Len," he tells her, raising his eyebrows.

Eleanor rolls her eyes and sniffs. "I know you spend far too much time hanging out at country pubs but you're dangerously close to speaking like a yokel," she informs him, now pulling herself upright and wrapping her arms around her legs.

Robbie grins, then decides to impart his wisdom. "Love isn't an easy thing to deal with. But I don't think he would have spent the best part of the past week on the run, driving you round, _putting his life at risk_ if he didn't care about you too. And all I can say is its too soon to give up on him yet."

He leans over and gives her hand a squeeze, and then gets to his feet.

"And in my opinion the best way to get through this is to stop moping around and come and give us a hand. There's loads to do and you won't pass the time any faster here lying about feeling sorry for yourself," he tells her.

Robbie always did like dishing out his advice straight and simple. And however much she might resent it at the time, he's normally right.

Eleanor considers his words, then rolls over to her right, reluctantly.

"Fine. But if any of your feral friends manage to weasel their way into my room in my absence I am seriously going to punch someone," she warns, and her face darkens. "Because the one you let sleep in my room, _arse_ , had cologne that smelt like a public toilet."

* * *

She keeps busy all day, and all day she's not thinking about Jasper, and she's not counting that its been 12, 13, 14, 15 _too many hours_ since he was supposed to be back, and _too many hours_ since Robbie's contacts contact hasn't returned his call.

And the reason she has to keep going, she won't let herself stop is because she's afraid of the silence when she's alone.

It's 11.30 by the time Robbie sees her sway slightly on her feet and tells she needs to go to bed, giving her a stern look suggesting he's not going to let her argue. And she doesn't because she's too exhausted to anyway.

She doesn't bother to undress, or take off her makeup or her shoes, just switches off the light and throws herself on the bed, pulling a blanket over her.

But the bed smells like another man, and there is no peace inside her head and everything is all wrong.

She sits up in the dark and edges towards the end of the bed, putting her feet square underneath her. This way she's not reminded that his arms aren't around her when she goes to sleep.

Because she realises that at first she'd resented Jasper and hated him, then somewhere along the way she'd started to rely on him and finally had become addicted to him and his touch, his hands on her, his body on hers.

And then she'd started to trust him and _love_ him even.

And it had been scary and confusing, but so thrilling.

And now it wasn't.

Now she is just alone, still feeling the afterburn of losing something she'd only just found.

And its so quiet that she can hear her heart beat, and faint rustle of wind against the trees outside.

So quiet until she's almost asleep and the door creaks and a figure is silhouetted against the hallway light and she looks up, startled.

Jasper shuts the door behind him and leans against it for a moment, then bends over to switch on a lamp.

"I was certain you were dead," Eleanor whispers, the disbelief evident in her voice as the lamp illuminates his face and she sees that it is him.

"Yeah. I'm sorta like Jesus. Only better looking and with a gun," he deadpans back. And Eleanor is caught between joy and an urge to smack him in the face, because all this time and he couldn't have made one _phone call_.

And now he's walking towards her deliberately, shedding his clothes with every step.

"What are you doing?," she questions, breathlessly.

His mouth captures hers, hot and demanding.

"Saving the world," he tells her, as he's pushing her down firmly onto the bed.


	21. Chapter 21

_Aww thanks for all your kind reviews, you gotta get your happy Jaspenor where you can these days!_

 _And now for the M rated stuff..._

* * *

As soon as he touches her, as soon as he kisses her it's like she's on fire. But she needs something more from him than just his touch, she needs to know she means something to him.

She puts a hand on his chest and holds him off her for a moment, and he looks back at her startled, then annoyed.

"You have no idea what it was like these past 24 hours. All this time I thought you were dead and you didn't even make one phone call," she says accusingly, and its anger in her voice – at him but also at herself because this is still so new to her that she resents the way she needs him, the way she misses him when he's gone.

"It wasn't possible," he tells her, his eyebrows knitting together. "If I could have called I would have but I couldn't. But I'm back now," he tells, her leaning down into her. He kisses her cheek just under her eye, and his stubble rubs against her eyelashes and he almost succeeds in making her shut up.

But not quite. She rolls away from him and sits up the bed, putting some space between them so she can think straight.

"If we're going to do this, I want you to say something about us. Something that's real," she tells him, because she can't do this if he's just all about using her like he was before. Hurting her.

"You said you're doing this to save the world," she tells him, raising her eyebrows and folding her arms. "Is that what this is to you then? Just about us doing this because that's what the man in the high castle said we had to," she demands.

He looks back at her frustrated, and runs a hand through his hair. "Eleanor, no," he tells her, forcefully.

"That's not what this is. Even if he had never said anything I would still want you. I would still care about you," he tells her, frowning.

He leans forward and takes her hand in his and shifts closer to look at her, "if you want to know something that's real then you should know that all I've thought about today is that I wanted you to get back here safe. That's the god damn truth," he adds tensely.

"Even when we were at sea and everyone else was talking about patrols, I was thinking about _you_ ," and even as he's saying the words, his fingers are moving, tracing little circles in her palm, and when he's looking into her eyes she loses all sense of time and place.

That's all it takes because her face lights up and a second later she's crawling over to him and into his arms and tugging at his shirt, while he's impatiently pulling down the zip of her dress. She pushes his shirt off his shoulders and then raises her arms so her can lift her dress of her.

And then they fall backwards onto her bed, and it turns hot and heavy and he's kissing her and his hands are under her bra to unhook it and sliding her knickers off her.

She's missed this more than she would ever admit. And while she's had enough practice to be good at this, he's an expert and its not long after he puts his mouth on her, and then his fingers that she's shuddering under his touch.

She has her eyes closed and her breath is coming thick and fast as she tries to recover from what he's been doing to her when she feels him slide up her body and then kissing first one eyelid then another. She wrinkles her eyes at his touch and then opens her eyes to find him lying beside her, his head resting on a pillow.

He sits up, frowning. "Why the hell does the pillow smell of cologne. Cologne that's not mine?" he demands. And she can see the barely supressed anger starting to boil.

Eleanor jumps to her own defence. "That was from before I got back. My bloody brother decided to lend the room to one of his minions. And now it is infested with the stink of cheap cologne," she adds, crossly, scowling back down at the offending pillow.

"Believe me it annoys me as much as you. I'll wash the sheets tomorrow," she decides.

"The only reason I didn't wash it today was because you going missing upset everything around here," she adds, and there's more than a hint of accusation in her voice.

More than anything it upset _her_ to the point that even washing the sheets seemed too much to take on, but she's not willing to spell out she's that pathetic.

Jasper's examining her face closely, and then seems to accept what she saying.

He flips over, effectively pinning her down, and holding her arms by her sides.

"You're mine Princess. I own you," he announces possessively. "And if anyone here tries anything out with you they'll be dealing with my fist in their face," he adds menacingly.

Having him stare her down like this, brooding and aggressive is putting her in some kind of daze, but she recovers herself enough to reply.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary."

He leans in closer to her. "I want you baby, I have to have you," he whispers huskily into her ear.

She wants him just as bad and she wraps her arms and then her legs around him.

It's all the signal he needs and she can feel him burn as he slides inside her. She wriggles her hips underneath him to try and accommodate his size because he's stretching her. When he's in deep she lets out the breath of air she's been holding and then he starts to move.

He pushes into her, and she arches her back to meet him. He slides out and just as her body starts to ache for him he slams back into her, steadying her hip with one hand. She moans into his lips as his lips press against hers as he rocks into her again.

His hands roams over her body, over the peak of her nipple, caressing it as he goes and then his hand moves down her stomach and to her thigh.

He pulls himself away from her, up higher. One of her arms rests against his upper arm but its too broad for her hand to fit right around. The other slide lower down his body to rest against his lower back where she can feel his muscles flex with every thrust as she's underneath him.

He shifts her one of her legs so its higher up his back, allowing him to penetrate her deeper and adjust his rhythm, thrusting into her harder and faster and with every thrust her body arches under his and breathless moans start falling from her lips.

She closes her eyes and then opens them again, and his eyes are looking down into hers, staring into her, dark and possessive. She's on the brink of ecstacy, breathless and flushed and he knows it.

He pulls back then sinks down into her again with a sharp thrust, then repeats it again and again and she's already gone, but still he keeps going.

And then eventually she feels the shudder run through his body and the guttural sound from the back of his throat and then she feels his weight on top of her, heavy and slick with sweat as he falls into her.

A moment later he rolls himself off her and pulls her into him, trapping her against his chest in his strong arms.

There is no where in the world that she feels as safe.

And she wonders and hopes as she runs a finger over his chest as her breathing stills, if one day everything is going to be better because of this thing they've done.


	22. Chapter 22

_Aww thanks for your concern people. No I haven't been sick but its been a pretty dramatic week._

 _We had a major wildfire (they had to evacuate 1,000 people) and I had to work late for a couple of nights because of this (not a firefighter but had to help with the communications about it)_

 _So haven't been able to update but now its mostly under control_

* * *

When she opens her eyes in the morning, Jasper's facing her and watching her as if he's been waiting all this time for her to wake.

He's smiling back at her, and she can't help but return it back.

He places an arm around her waist and draws her closer, still face to face.

"I was watching you sleep," he tells her. "But not in a creepy way. Well not entirely creepy," he amends.

Eleanor raises an eyebrow, "so just mildly creepy then?" she asks.

Jasper nods and tightens his hold on her hip. "Just noticing things. The way your mouth curves when you're dreaming, the little noises you make. How your hair smells."

She would normally laugh but the way he's looking at her is making her heart do somersalts.

"Ok well it might be properly creepy," Jasper admits. "But in a good way."

And Eleanor finds the breath to reply. "In a good way," she repeats in agreement.

Jasper leans over and his mouth closes in on hers and she's pulling him down onto her, pawing at his chest as his hands slide down her side and he reaches to pull at her knickers.

"So show me something else you can do in a good way," Eleanor breathes in his ear, fanning hot air onto his cheek.

Jasper raises an eyebrow, and smirks, and nips at her neck. "You know its dangerous to say stuff like that to me. You're gonna set me off baby. You're gonna get what's coming."

And Eleanor smirk widens right back at him. "So show me what's coming," she taunts, running a hand over his muscled bicep.

And he's part way through 'showing' her – sliding her knickers down her legs when there's a loud rapping at the door.

"Lenny, get up we need you out here," her brother orders, through the door.

Eleanor rolls her eyes and sits up. Of course he would choose right now to interrupt.

"Tell your brother he can fuck off," Jasper hisses in her ear, looking pissed.

Eleanor has a wicked look in her eye. "Yeah, just give me ten minutes. Something's come up here and I need to get on top of it first."

Jasper's normally expressionless face is priceless.

There's silence for a few seconds, and then Robert replies. "Well, whoever he is, when you're done getting on top of him, get your ass back out here again," he tells her.

She doesn't have to see his disapproving expression to imagine it behind the door.

And next things he's pulling her impatiently and she's falling forward into Jasper's arms, long hair brushing his chest and eyes alight as she stifles a giggle.

* * *

Twenty minutes later they make their way into the kitchen.

Robert raises an eyebrow at Jasper and then at her, noting her cat that got the cream expression.

"Well well, back from the dead," he says finally, addressing Jasper. "And making up for it with my sister this morning."

"Rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated," Jasper replies dryly.

"I can confirm he is alive and fully functioning. Performance wise anyway," Eleanor adds helpfully.

Robert shakes his head, "I've only just had breakfast. Spare me the details. Anyway let's just cut to the chase and tell me what films you brought back and what the man said."

He doesn't miss the way they look from one to the other and then back at him.

Eleanor speaks first. "The films we saw were terrible. They show all sorts of awful things that have happened and things that could happen in the future. There's so many things that the Reich has been doing that have been hidden from people – how they've been killing the Jews and the disabled and people who oppose them."

Robert nods as if this isn't a surprise. "The resistance has seen some of the films already and I've heard they're terrible."

"If you'd seen them yourself Robbie you would be shocked," Eleanor's voice wobbles. "It's a dreadful world we live in where people do these things to each other," she whispers.

His sister normally puts a fearless face on for the world, but he knows that inside she more than any of them hates to see people hurt or suffering.

And usually he would he the one to pull her into a hug but he doesn't miss the way Jasper steps closer and surreptitiously puts an arm around her waist.

She seems to draw strength from the motion and pulls herself together. "We got 14 films, and we met the Man in the High Castle," she tells her brother.

"And what did he have to say?" Robert questions, listening carefully because he knows that the resistance is certain that he can help them beat the Nazis.

Jasper speaks up instead. "He said that Eleanor and I had to be together for the revolt to be successful. That we were the key. That something about us together would change the future for the better."

Robert's eyebrows shoot up to the roof and he takes a step back as he takes a minute to process this.

"Well then," he says, finally, folding his arms. "If that's what the man says then you two had better make it official."

Eleanor's eyebrows knot together. "What do you mean make it official?"

Robert gives her a look as if she's simple.

"I mean if the man says that you two being together is the thing that's going to set England free then you'll have to get married. And fast."


	23. Chapter 23

_Thanks for your reviews, back with another chapter_

* * *

Eleanor's jaw falls open and Jasper is staring at her brother with a fixed expression on his face.

"What - what do you mean _get married?"_ Eleanor demands.

"I mean that the man knows what he's talking about," Robert says purposefully. "And if he says you've got to get married for this thing to be a success, then you're getting married," he tells them, looking from one to the other as if he's just dispensed an order.

Jasper clears his throat. "Yeah I don't take orders from you, Prince or no Prince," he informs him, dismissively.

"Me neither," Eleanor informs him hautily, jumping on the bandwagon Jasper's just started moving.

Robert rolls his eyes. "You know you're acting like a couple of spoiled children. You're forgetting that what we're talking about is the lives of everyone in this house, and the lives of many many more people outside of here. The very freedom of our country," he lectures, gesturing grandly with his hands.

"So what it comes down to is that it doesn't matter how you two feel about it, there are bigger issues at stake here. If he turns out to be an arse you can always divorce him down the track Lenny. But in the meantime I don't want to die in this revolt wondering if the reason we failed if because you didn't put a ring on my sister's hand," Robert tells them, pointing at Jasper accusingly.

Eleanor raises her eyebrows. "I already know he's an arse, you needn't tell me that," she replies back, snappily.

Jasper scowls back at her.

"Most of the time," Eleanor amends, hastily. "Some of the time he's actually quite sweet."

Jasper's still looking less than impressed.

Robert folds his arms. "Anyway I have more important things to be doing that participating in your domestic disagreements. You're getting married. Soon. I'll make some calls," he tells them both and turns, striding off for another room.

Eleanor looks back at Jasper helplessly, but he's brooding silently to himself.

* * *

Eleanor spends the rest of the morning with one of her brother's minions writing up notes setting out the grand master plan.

Someone, somehow decided she should sit behind the typewriter because the mere fact that she was a female apparently made her proficient with a typewriter and suited to menial notetaking.

After ten minutes of her jabbing at the machine with two fingers and jamming the paper twice, interspersed with outbursts of swearing, the spectacled student she was working with impatiently tells her to get off the seat and takes over.

She gladly gets off and goes and stands in front of the map they have on the wall, with a dozen pins sticking out of it marking various locations. Small notes also pepper the map.

She hasn't seen or spoken to Jasper since this morning.

When they were in bed this morning she was _happy._

But now everything has turned ridiculously complicated. And the thought of her becoming somebody's _wife_ seem outrageous.

And she wonders what it would be like to be Jasper's wife. To wake up every morning with him by her side. To promise to love and honour him and keep that promise every night and every day for the rest of her life. And for him to make her the same promises in exchange.

She touches the ring her grandmother left to her on her hand and thinks that if she was Jasper's wife his ring would replace it.

And he would own her body and soul.

* * *

It's some time after two in the afternoon when Bill, the short, slightly fat older one of resistance, rushes into the room and makes an announcement.

"He's dead. Hitler's dead," he tells them breathlessly.

The announcement sets everyone off and there's a buzz of chatter and someone cheers.

But standing in the corner Eleanor falls silent, feeling the heavy weight of history because she knows what this means.

The moment is not coming, it is here, this is their time to stage the revolt, and to put their lives on the line.

She looks over to Jasper who has been strategizing on the couch, pen in hand and legs on the table. He's put his paper down and is watching the others with an unreadable expression.

Her brother shifts to the centre of the room, and everyone falls silent, waiting for him to speak.

"Friends, this is the moment we have been waiting for. The day we have all been planning for, and working for with our colleagues here in Britain and overseas. We have been expecting this for some weeks and I am confident we are ready to make our dreams a reality," he announces, looking at the faces in the room and smiling encouragingly.

"Tomorrow we will stage a revolt which will bring the Reich to its knees and replace it with a new, better more democratic government. By tomorrow evening we will be free," he tells them.

His colleagues nod in agreement, while another shouts, "Hear, hear."

"I know that we can do this, I know that we will do this. Together, with everyone playing their part," he adds. "And for now we must double our efforts to make sure everything is ready," he adds.

Then he steps aside to pour himself a glass of wine then he turns to looks at his sister first, and then Jasper.

"I would like to propose a toast to my sister and Mr Frost on their engagement and impending marriage," he announces.

Robert raises his glass high in the air and nods to his sister.

"Tomorrow," he adds, ominously.

"To tomorrow," everyone joins in his toast.


	24. Chapter 24

_Thanks for your reviews, another chapter is up now_

* * *

Nothing is done properly for their wedding. Or at least not according to Reich law.

Because neither of them have undertaken their racial heritage profiling and been granted permission to marry, having been considered suitably 'pure.'

And there is no state wedding service, and instead they are married illegally by a Reverend.

Officially there are no Reverends left in the country at all because those who have no renounced their faith have been sent for re-education. And now they both know exactly what that entails.

But apparently, the resistance knows a few of them still operating undercover.

Eleanor doesn't even have a proper wedding dress, but instead a plain white lace shift dress one of her brother's friends sisters provides her.

And Jasper wears his ordinary black suit.

And everything is rushed, and secretive, with only her brother to give her away, and one of the others from the house who Jasper barely knows as his best man.

And even when they're saying their vows it doesn't seem real.

There's no fuss or ceremony once the service is finished and they all pile into the old truck, and travel back to the farmhouse, squished together with Eleanor perched on her brother's knee.

It's only when they're back at the house and she goes into her bedroom to take off her wedding dress, when Jasper silently enters the room after her and shuts the door that everything suddenly seems real.

He steps forward and she feels his hands on her back, unzipping her dress.

Eleanor freezes at his touch, and his breath on her neck. "You know we have to leave in a few minutes," she tells him, because there's not even a moment to draw breath before their operation will begin.

He eases her dress off her shoulders, and she steps out of it.

"I meant what I said in there," Jasper tells her, and his face is serious.

"What did you mean?" Eleanor asks, reaching for a straight black skirt, and turning around to face him.

"I meant that this marriage isn't for show. We're in this together now. You're my wife and I'll take care of you for the rest of my life," he tells her.

And its now that the enormity of what they've just done hits Eleanor – that she's agreed to spend the rest of her life with this man she's known for less than a month – much of which he's spent lying to her.

A man she's unaccountably in love with, but unsure whether he feels the same about her.

And she feels suddenly shy standing in front of him in her underwear. And overwhelmed.

She looks down at the ground and when she looks back up again he's standing in front of her, one hand around her waist, pressing his lips to hers demandingly.

She breaks off the kiss. "We can't do this. There's no time –" she tells him breathlessly, squashing down the excitement which flares at the touch of his hands and lips.

"Worst fucking idea ever. Scheduling a revolt straight after my wedding," Jasper fumes as she pushes him away, and pulls a top on.

Eleanor raises an eyebrow as her head reappears from under her top. "I'll be sure to let my brother know that if something goes wrong tonight he can put it down to your being sexually frustrated."

Jasper's still looking annoyed but now he's heading for the door, and she follows a few seconds later.

"As soon as this bloody thing is over we're consuming this marriage. A lot," he announces.

* * *

Whatever is seen and heard in the Reich is strictly controlled by the Reich's censoriship and propagaranda authority – the Office of Public Information.

It's only today that it becomes apparent that a number of radio stations have been infiltrated by the resistance when the call goes out that the Fuhrer is dead and the people must assemble in Fuhrer Platz in London within the hour to pay their respects and in squares across the country.

And even as the official channels are denying and retracting the unapproved announcements that have gone out, the people are gathering themselves in numbers too large to be able to turn back or control.

By the time the radio stations broadcast the unauthorised messages, they're already at Maidenhead, and they're gathering numbers because now they have maybe 100 resistance fighters with them from London and the south east.

Her brother will address the crowd in the place the resistance refuse to address as anything other than Trafalgar Square. And Eleanor knows that he is the right man for the job, because he can persuade and inspire anyone to his way of thinking.

But looking over to Bill, who has been tasked to speak to the army at Guildford, she has a sudden sense of panic. Because Bill has none of the qualities her brother has, and if he can't pull this off their plan is doomed. They are all doomed.

She steps forward. "I've decided I'll go to Guildford to help the operation there," she announces suddenly.

Her brother and Jasper stare back at her. "Lenny you're best to stick with me. That would be safest."

"But Bill doesn't have your talent to persuade people. He's not an orator. And if we can't pull this off this will fail and a lot of people will die," she tells them both, suddenly desperate.

"So I will go there," she announces and gives them a look that doesn't brook arguments.

"I know I'm not as good as you Robbie. But many of the soldiers will have served under King Simon and I'm the daughter of their King. A great King," she adds proudly. "And that still counts for something."

Jasper's watching her, with a furrowed brow. "I don't think you understand how dangerous this will be. For you especially if you're the one to speak," he tells her.

"Of course I do," Eleanor snaps back. "But I also understand how dangerous it will be for everyone if we fail. We must succeed, we have to, and I'll have a better chance than Bill. I mean even being a woman they'll be more reluctant to open fire on me."

Jasper stands back from her, and runs a hand through his hair, assessing her words. It's partly true because yes they may be slower to shoot a woman, but the Reich is hardly know for showing compassion towards their enemies.

Robert is the one to decide. "If you must go then go. But don't do anything stupid and take Jasper with you."

He steps over and plants a kiss on her cheek. "Take care."

He looks up and regards Jasper solemnly. "I'm entrusting you with her care. Don't stuff it up," he tells him.

And Jasper feels the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. And an overwhelming urge to do everything he can to keep Eleanor safe.

"I won't," he replies. And he hopes for once in his life he can keep his word.


	25. Chapter 25

By the time they reach Guildford where the Southeast Korps is located, Eleanor hasn't said a word for a good fifteen minutes.

Just as they had been told, around the back of the camp the wire has been cut, and they just scramble down under the hole, and then stroll in.

There's no one around, because its lunchtime, and the officers are in their mess hut, while everyone else is in a separate hut eating.

And they don't expect a lot of activity out of the officer's mess because the resistance has infiltrated their kitchen and poisoned their food – not strong enough to kill anyone but powerful enough to put the officers out of action for the next 24 hours. The same strategy that is being applied at army camps all across the Reich.

When they get to the door, Jasper stops her just outside and grabs her hand.

"You know Bill can still do the talking if you want," he tells her, eyeballing her.

Eleanor shakes her head in quick denial. "No, it has to be me."

Jasper hasn't missed the way that her hand is trembling in his or the fear in her eyes.

"You'll be great," he reassures her. "Just like your Dad was great," he adds.

It must be the right thing to say, because she seems to take courage from his words and straightens her spine.

Even if this means death, she's going to look it in the face, like the Princess she is.

She nods, and then pushes open the door, while the others follow behind.

"Good afternoon everyone," three hundred soldiers swivel their heads towards her and regard her with suspicion. Two soldiers start to make their way towards her, ready to evict them and quite possibly throw them in prison.

Eleanor holds up her arms, "I'm unarmed. I only want to speak to you. My name is Eleanor Henstridge," she hurries on.

"Princess Eleanor Henstridge," she repeats. "My father was King Simon."

A stir breaks out in the crowd, "She's dead," someone shouts.

"God save the King," someone else yells out, bravely, because those words are treason.

But many of the older men actually served under her father, while the younger ones know enough to know that he was revered by his people, even if his name is not permitted to be spoken publicly anymore.

"She's looks like Queen Helena. She's got to be the Princess," someone else yells, and a dozen people yell out in ageement. "Yeah it's her," "Got to be her."

Eleanor takes heart and goes forward and takes the hand of a soldier, using it to climb up and onto a table, where she surveys the crowd regally.

"The regime you are working for is not what you think it is. The regime was responsible for the death of my father and many millions of others," she tells them.

There is a ripple of disbelief in the crowd, and then angry shouts.

Eleanor continues. "They have tricked you and lied to you and tried to turn you against your own people. My father was a great King. He loved England and its people and his whole life was dedicated to protecting our country and most especially protecting the poor and the weak. He fought against the Reich and he stood up for what was right."

"The best King," one of the soldiers sitting at the table echoes back at her. "God rest his soul."

Eleanor looks him right in the eye and then looks up at the rest of the crowd. "What I'm going to show you is something your bosses don't want you to see. It is top secret and it exposes the lies and terrible crimes the Reich is built on."

Behind her the film projector is being set up by the other resistance members and a white sheet being tied to the roof and rolled down the wall.

"That's treason," someone shouts. And she would definitely go to prison for this.

But the intrigue is too much for the rest of the soldiers, luring them in.

"Shut up I want to see this," someone yells back, and cries of 'yeah' and 'yes' follow.

"The films are real, they show things that have happened under the direction of the Reich. Crimes against the people, our people," Eleanor tells them, extending her hand to Jasper who helps her down from the table.

She stands to the side, to let them see the film which starts playing. "This film shows how the Jews are taken to camps. And at these camps they don't work – they are killed with gas. Old people, women and children, babies even too. There is no mercy for anyone."

The soldiers are looking at the film in silence, some sceptical waiting for evidence with their own eyes and some shocked, because the Reich keeps its dirty laundry well hidden even from its own soldiers, and only a few units of the SS have knowledge of their crimes.

By the end of the film when the film pans across the cold, white bodies taken out of the gas chambers the sea of faces looks stunned. A few of the soldiers are even openly crying.

But there's no chance to say anything because the next film has started rolling already.

Everyone watches silently.

And Eleanor's eyes widen when she recognises her father standing atop the Tower of London.

"Dad," she breathes.

And Jasper's turns sharply from the film to her. Because they were supposed to go to Trafalgar Square today, not come here. And Robbie and a couple of others in the house have seen this film, but Eleanor never has.

Now they are watching the inside of the castle at night, as two soldiers push their way into the King's room and one of them holds a pillow over his face while the other holds him down as he struggles.

He keeps struggling. And then he's not struggling anymore, he's lying still and lifeless.

And Eleanor's face has turned just as pale as the pillow or the sliver of light in that castle tower, and she sways ever so slightly on her feet, but Jasper's already anticipated it and his arms are around her tight, holding her upright, steadying her with his strength.

And the soldiers are watching the film, shocked, and watching the effect its having on the Princess.

A couple of them rush forward to help her, while others yell angrily. "They're bloody murderers," "How dare they kill him," another yells, sounding outraged.

Eleanor is helped into a chair, but she's so silent Jasper decides to take matters into his own hands.

He stands in front of the blank screen. "You're right to say they're bloody murderers. They killed your King, and they have been killing a lot of other people – Jews, the disabled, people with genetic diseases – its been going on for years. Maybe when you get older and aren't useful to anyone they'll kill you, or your family," he adds ominously.

He looks to Eleanor. "And what Princess Eleanor wanted to tell you is that we want you to help make a change."

Eleanor nods her head in agreement.

"To make things better for the people. Right now, the people are gathering in Trafalgar Square. And your bosses may tell you to go there and break up the gathering, maybe even to attack the crowd and kill people. But those orders are the orders of an evil empire – the same empire who has killed thousands or your own people, maybe even millions of people."

Eleanor finds her voice again, and rises to her feet unsteadily.

"Please don't hurt those people – they are trying to change things for the better, to create a better country which we can be proud of. We need your support. It's what my Dad would have wanted most of all - but we need you to help us to make it happen."

There are tears in her eyes and her voice breaks when she says her father's name but she is still every inch the Princess. Proud. Determined. Beautiful.

And the crowd is with her.

"Your father would be proud of you Princess," someone yells, and Jasper sees can see how much those words mean to her just from her face.

And then the spell is broken when one of the officers bursts into the room.

Jasper frowns. Evidently not everyone had eaten the chicken pot pie.

"I command you to seize that girl," he orders, as he reaches for his gun.

Jasper slams her to the ground and draws his gun.

Eleanor hits the ground with a crash and she's hidden under the table.

Down the back of the room there's a commotion because a couple of the soldiers are standing in front of the officer, blocking the way.

And Jasper seizes the opportunity to grab her arm, so forcefully she's sure she'll have bruises in the morning and drags her into a half sitting position and then squats down beside her and pushes her forward.

"Stay down and follow me," he orders and he delivers his instructions so sure of himself and with such force she doesn't stop to question him.

He ducks down low and then makes a break for the door, dragging her along with him, while the others dash out behind them.

And then they are running for the way out, and hoping that what they've done is enough to turn the camp, and that they'll live long enough to know for sure.


	26. Chapter 26

_Sorry I haven't updated in a little while, have been busy. But I hope you're still reading and enjoying the story!_

 _We left off where Jasper had pulled Eleanor out of the army mess tent after their speech..._

* * *

Jasper is pulling her along with him as if his life depends on it as they rush back towards the fence, and slide under the barbed wire. The others are hot on their heels and there's shouting in the backround.

But Eleanor doesn't dare look back, and her brother's words are ringing in her head.

 _Never look back and never surrender_ , he'd told them only this morning his words a half echo of a famous British Prime Minister a generation ago.

A few minutes later she's groping for the door handle and wrenching it open, there's a seconds delay as three others slide into the back seat while Jasper waits with not even barely veiled impatience and then he slams the car into gear and it shudders forward.

Eleanor adjusts her seatbelt, and it takes a while to buckle because her bloody hands are shaking like a leaf.

She looks over at Jasper, and his hands are gripping the wheel tightly and his mouth is set in a grim line as he pushes the accelerator down hard.

The city is only 25 miles drive but it feels like half a world away, and she wonders what the hell they're going to find when they get there.

* * *

Everything seems normal for the first ten miles.

But once they reach the outskirts of the city, there's an eery calm about the place.

Eleanor leans forward to peer out the window. They drive down two streets and she doesn't see a single soul.

"They put a curfew in place," one of the others whose name she can't recall informs her from the back seat. "Everyone's either in the square if they left before that was announced or at home."

As the enter another deserted street, her sense of foreboding grows, and the fact that Jasper hasn't said a single word in the past ten minutes isn't helping calm her nerves.

She breaks the silence, "If there's a curfew they'll probably have roadblocks in place."

Jasper nods his head. "Yep."

"In a minute we'll turn down a side street and take a less direct route to avoid the main roads," the same one who spoke before informs her from the backseat. "That was agreed yesterday," he adds.

"Thanks," Eleanor replies briefly, thinking he's unusally chatty - in sharp contrast to the normally uncommunicative types that fill the ranks of the resistance.

True to the words of the stranger in the back seat, the next moment Jasper turns sharp left and heads off into a quiet residential street.

* * *

They can hear the crowd before they see them.

As they get closer the noise is almost deafening, and then up ahead suddenly people swarm into view and they reach an impasse as people fill the road, blocking their progress.

Jasper seems to have already anticipated this before it happens.

"We'll have to walk from here on in," he tells them, parking the car up near a footpath, and pulling the keys out from the ignition.

Eleanor unbuckles her seatbelt and steps out of the car and in the back the others follow suit. They stand outside the car in a half circle.

The three men from the back seat peel away from them. "We're to head round to the east side and rendezvous with some of the others there," one of them tells the two of them, and they disappear back down behind them, heading for an alleyway to cut through and away to the east.

The day had dawned clear and bright, but now it was gloomy grey, with the promise of rain menacing the air.

Eleanor has turned toward the crowd, trying desperately to listen so she can get some sense of what's going on, and whether her brother is alive or dead. Whether they managed to prevent the army from turning up to follow the orders of the Reich which could very likely lead to a bloodbath.

But when she turns to look back at Jasper - he who is normally so cool, calm and collected and wholly focused on the mission, is looking at her.

Looking at her as if she is the centre of the world, and whatever is going on out there doesn't matter.

"What?" she questions, sharply, afraid that something is wrong.

"You're beautiful," he tells her, placing a hand on her cheek.

And she is quite perfect - all slender arms and legs, glossy dark hair and cat green eyes lit up with a mix of trepidation and fire.

For a moment she lets herself lean in to his touch, and then she steps back. "We have to go now. I've got to know if Robbie's still alive. We have to help them," she tells him, urgently.

He nods and takes her hand in his and they walk forward, towards the crowds and the chaos.

At the edge of the crowd, things are more orderly and they make better progress.

Everywhere people are yelling and screaming, and when they round the corner into the far corner of the square finally Eleanor catches a glimpse of her brother, who is, _thank God_ , apparently still of this world.

He is standing up high on one of the statues yelling and shouting at the crowd, but they're too far away to be able to hear his words.

And as they move further towards him and further into the square everything becomes more chaotic, because there are too many people, and whatever her brother is saying is making people go crazy, pushing and shoving and almost trying to stampede towards where he is pointing, in their excitement.

"This is dangerous," Eleanor breathes, and she knows she sounds just as high strung she feels.

And then another sound fills the air, and Eleanor freezes as Jasper's mouth tightens.

They both know that sound. Sirens.

The police are coming.

And this can't be good.

A minute later a row of black uniformed officers appear and position themselves on one of the Luftwaffe heroes statues on the west side of the square.

As she watches the Kommandants hand rise and them fall again everything seems to shift into slow motion.

Because she knows - and so do the thousands of others who fill the square - that that is the order for the police to open fire.

Almost immediately Jasper's grip on her hand tightens and he's pulling her away and down, sheltering her from the line of fire with his body.

Everyone has started screaming, pushing and running.

Three thousand people lose their minds as shots ring out in the air, and blood pools crimson on the ground.

Someone is forcing them apart and trying to push through between the two of them.

And then that person became a surge of people, pushing, pulling and forcing their way through trying to get to safety.

Somehow, somewhere in amongst the terror and chaos, her hand had been torn from his hand.

And then she was lost, washed away by the force of the crowd like a wave crashing into the shore, even as he is desperately calling her name against the deafening roar of the crowd.


	27. Chapter 27

Alright so please keep reading and reviewing the story - we are very near the end now.

Last we left off this was the situation:

 _A minute later a row of black uniformed officers appear and position themselves on one of the Luftwaffe heroes statues on the west side of the square._

 _As she watches the Kommandants hand rise and them fall again everything seems to shift into slow motion._

 _Because she knows - and so do the thousands of others who fill the square - that that is the order for the police to open fire._

 _Almost immediately Jasper's grip on her hand tightens and he's pulling her away and down, sheltering her from the line of fire with his body._

 _Everyone has started screaming, pushing and running._

 _Three thousand people lose their minds as shots ring out in the air, and blood pools crimson on the ground._

 _Someone is forcing them apart and trying to push through between the two of them._

 _And then that person became a surge of people, pushing, pulling and forcing their way through trying to get to safety._

 _Somehow, somewhere in amongst the terror and chaos, her hand had been torn from his hand._

 _And then she was lost, washed away by the force of the crowd like a wave crashing into the shore, even as he is desperately calling her name against the deafening roar of the crowd._

* * *

The Police are not the only ones who are armed today.

Most of the resistance fighters have guns too - and if its only 60 armed resistance to 80 Police, they make up for what they lack in numbers with courage.

It's only a minute before the first shots are fired back, picking off two of the Police as they stand, arrogant and seemingly impregnable up high on the shoulders of supposed heroes past.

And then there's a volley of shots, back and forth, and the Policemen who are under fire from several directions are for once not in control.

But the hail of bullets from all directions is only causing the crowd to panic and push harder, as people try and flee the square.

After she'd been torn away from him by the crowd, he only manages to catch a glimpse of dark hair, several meters away, and then she disappears.

And even when he pushes and shoves towards where he'd last seen her, it is slow work and by the time he's there, she's already gone.

He's half a head taller than most of the crowd, but today that doesn't seem to be an advantage because as hard as he tries, when he scans the crowd, Eleanor is invisible.

Which is when he realises - standing alone in amongst thousands of others - that she is the thing that is most precious in the world to him.

The _only_ thing that matters at all in this crazy, fucked up world.

And she has been _taken_ from him.

* * *

At the centre of the crowd, Robert is in the thick of it.

Once the shots started falling he'd slid down the column and merged into the crowd. Because yes, he was prepared to die if necessary. But he isn't suicidal.

Besides which now the crowd is stirred they've got to activate this.

And he knows exactly what to do.

"This way," he yells pointing towards an empty street. "This is the best way out," he shouts to the crowd.

And the people have been listening to him until only a few minutes ago, and they believe him.

He and George and a couple of the others take the lead, and at least a two hundred people are jostling behind them, desperate for a way out of this madness.

Behind them, they can hear the gun battle continuing.

He's not sure where his sister is, but whatever she said to the army may just have worked, because he hasn't seem hide or hair of them today. Which is just as well because the odds are against them with just the Police here as it is.

Once they've broken out of the square, they quicken their pace to a run, and their followers do the same.

In less than five minutes they're up against the grey, forbidding columns of the Reich Zentram Gebaude. And just as planned, a dozen resistance fighters are inside the foyer.

By the time they get in, there's blood on the floor and of the 12 guards normally stationed at the front entrance, 8 are on the floor and four are outgunned.

One of them aims his weapon towards Robert, but beside him George beats him to the shot and shoots him dead. Two others have their hands in the air, in surrender.

A minute later they're handcuffed and pushed into a side room, where the door is locked.

But the resistance is racing ahead to the Parliament chamber and bursting through its doors.

15 men stare back at them in shock when they push their way into the room.

Behind them, some of the crowd from the square file into the room.

"These are the men who ordered the Police to start shooting," Robert coolly announces, pointing towards them.

And if there was ever any chance for mercy, its gone as soon as the words are out of his mouth, because the crowd starts shouting.

"Kill them. Kill them all, the murderers."

The resistance oblige, opening fire.

Because this is an oligarchy with no elected representatives, only an elite council of appointed men, their rulers are few in number.

But the battle is far from over because the Reichsfuhrer Field Marshall is still a remaining obstacle, and whatever of the Police force is out there or yet to come.

Robert is the first to leave the building. With blood on his hands, but he doesn't care because this regime killed his father and now they will get what has been coming for a long time.

When he emerges from the imposing stone covered arches he halts in his tracks.

In front of him is Jasper. He looks like a broken man.

Immediately he's suspicious. "Where's my sister?" he demands.

Jasper glances round, looking behind him as if searching for something. "I thought she might be with you," he says finally.

Robert shakes his head abruptly, his eyes narrowing. He doesn't think he's going to like what's coming.

"I lost her," Jasper says, and he sounds anguished.

"You lost her," Robert repeats, his voice a mix of shock and anger. "Well you better bloody find her," he demands.

Jasper stares back at him with that look. The look of a desperate man.

"I'll keep looking. I won't give up on her," he says, and Robert can actually see him trying to pull himself together.

"Well you better find her," he repeats again. "And she better not be one of those bodies in the square or so help me God you'll be joining her," Robert snaps, angrily, because he's just as fiercely protective of her as the man standing in front of him is.

And Jasper knows that there's well over a hundred bodies on the ground of the square and he's trying not to even think about the prospect of her being one of them.

The others have caught up with them now, pouring out of the doors and Robert takes a minute to scowl at him threateningly to reinforce his words then turns to depart with the others.

Jasper turns back towards the square, picking his way over the debris the panic has left behind, and starts scanning the crowd for a slender dark haired girl with a green blouse and a black skirt.

And he's never been a religious man but he can't help but echo her brothers' words in his head.

 _Please God she better not be one of the bodies in the square._


	28. Chapter 28

In the square a gun battle is underway.

Some of the crowd has dispersed but there are still at least four hundred people caught in the crossfire, screaming and ducking here and there, trying to get away.

The battle is starting to turn as one by one the better trained and armed Police force pick off the resistance fighters.

And there are more Police than before now as least another 20 reinforcements have turned up.

Jasper stands scanning the crowd desperately, his eyes picking over the bodies on the ground and those standing, crouching, hiding and fighting.

And then he sees her, flushed flat against a wall maybe a hundred meters away, with one of the other resistance fighters beside her, both with guns in their hands.

She leans out from behind the wall and takes a shot at one of the Police. It catches him in the arm and he gasps and presses a hand to his arm in pain and slumps down against the monument.

Across the square, as the shots keep ringing out, the crowd of civilians is thinning.

The resistance, even behind the cover of walls and seats and statues, are fast losing to the Police's superior numbers.

The Police Kommandant indicates his head towards the square, giving a signal only his men understand, and the officers fan out from their line and start to make their way across the square.

Jasper knows that they are now tasked to hunt down and kill any remaining resistance fighters.

And his eyes and his heart are trained only on Eleanor, because from where she is tucked behind a wall, neither her or her companion will be able to see the Police yet.

He wants to run to her, but he knows that would be suicide, not just for him, but it would give her position away to the Police.

So instead he loads his gun, and retreats back and down the way he came, running as fast as he can, and then up and around until he enters an alleyway.

He almost crashes around the corner, and now he can see the square down the tunnel of the narrow lane.

And in the background even through laboured breaths he can hear the rumbling of engines and he looks behind to catch a glimpse of the first of a series of tanks rolls towards the square, and his chest constricts with foreboding.

He turns his head to the right. And at last she's there, pressed against the wall, looking back at him with determination and fear in her eyes, still fierce and beautiful and most of all, still _alive._

* * *

Jasper doesn't say a word to her once he's beside he and instead he just takes her by the hand and shoots across the alleyway, tugging her along with him.

He breaks the glass of the apartment they're outside and shoves his way inside, then pushes his way down the corridor, his arm clamped firmly on her wrist.

A middle aged lady appears in the hallway, arms on hips, outraged. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demands.

But Jasper's already pushing open the window at the far side of the house and crawling out of it.

Only Eleanor has time to whirl around. "Sorry," she says apologetically. "It's an emergency. Maybe go get a drink and you'll forget all about this," she adds as a helpful suggestion before she disappears too.

And then they're outside once again, and ready to make a break for it across another lane.

And she can hear the hum of the tanks and the shouts of the soldiers, as they wait for a gap in procession of tanks, so they can duck across without the soldiers seeing them.

But even as she's watching the convoy roll by, she's counting their numbers - 3,4,5,6 and her heart is sinking. There are too many of them, and the resistance is so few. Even if they can get out of the central city, the army will ring the suburbs and flush them all out.

Maybe today isn't the beginning of a new future for them. Maybe its the beginning of the end.

She shivers then steps closer to Jasper, and slides her hand into his.

* * *

The arrival of the army in the square is a welcome development for Kommandant Fowler. God knows it taken them long enough, because they've been here for well over half an hour now.

By the time the first tank rolls into the square he's already moved over to position himself in the centre of the square, ready to greet them.

And on cue, out clamber a half dozen men, and then another half dozen from the second tank.

There's two seconds between when the army open fire on his own men and the time when the bullet reaches his brain.

It isn't enough time to figure out how or why this has happened but it is enough time for one last thought to cross his mind.

 _Betrayal._

* * *

Far away his luxurious residence on spacious grounds ourside the city, Reichsfuhrer Field Marshall Braun has finally accepted that their situation is hopeless.

Theirs is not the only country in revolt, its happening all over the Reich.

The Police are outnumbered and word has just come through that the army has turned against the Reich and is siding with the rebels. In Hamburg the European resistance has sabotaged half the German fleet. If any reinforcements arrive at all, from the Fatherland, it will be too little, too late.

He hears the intruders before he can see them but he already has three bullets neatly laid out in front of him on the eighteenth century veneered desk he occupies.

He raises his revolver against his temple and fires, because it is infinitely preferable to die as a gentleman by his own hand than to be strung up like a criminal by the common rabble.

* * *

The sound of shots from the square is intensifying, and the furrow between Jasper's eyebrows is deeper than ever and his grip on her arm tightens.

Eleanor is silent, heart racing, as they run down a small alleyway that will take them further away from the city.

The first time she hears it she doesn't understand what it means.

"Freedom," someone yells, sounding triumphant.

"We're free," someone shouts back. And then the sound spreads, as more voices join the chorus.

"We've done it," "Britain is free," "God bless the Army," are amongst the jumble of chants coming from the square.

Beside her, Jasper stops abruptly and stills to listen.

Eleanor almost crashes into him when he slows, and her blood is still pulsing in her ears as she strains to hear.

They keep shouting, and then she turns to Jasper in wonder. "I think the army are with _us_ ," she tells him.

Jasper nods. "I think so. But let's check," he says, because he's ever cautious with her when she's with him.

They turn and make their way back towards the square.

When they get near one of the many entrances, the stand behind the wall and peer around from the side.

Bodies of the Police officers are scattered across the square, along with some unfortunate civilians caught up in the chaos, and some brave resistance fighters.

But in the centre of the square stand around twenty tanks.

The soldiers are milling around in the square, laughing and talking with the resistance. Some of hugging each other, a couple of the soldiers are kissing some girls while others are sharing a beer with plain clothes civilians and resistance fighters.

Jasper turns to Eleanor, who's still watching it all wide eyed. " _You_ did that. _You_ turned them," he tells her.

Eleanor shakes her head in quick denial. "We _both_ did that." Just as the Man in the High Castle had said, together they would change the future.

And then she looks at him. "You know when I lost you in the crowd, they started shooting so many people that I thought I might have lost you. That you were dead," she's crying.

Through everything that's happened today she's been so desperate to hold herself together until its all over. And now it is all over and she can't hold it back anymore.

"And I realised that if you were dead I'd never be happy again because I am so in love with you," she confesses. And she remembers the point at which she realised that even if they managed to pull this off and if they succeeded in making everyone in England free, if she lost him _she_ would still be stricken and would never recover from his loss.

Jasper steps into her and he draws her into his arms, pulling her so tight into him that she can't breath. "You lost me but now you found me. I thought I lost you but now I've found you again," he's speaking into her ear and his breath fans her cheek, as warm reassurance that he's alive and still here with her.

He shifts his head and looks back at her, blue eyes burning bright into hers. "I'm not the kind of man who would settle for a marriage that's just for show. You're my _wife_ Eleanor and I'm never gonna let you go."

Eleanor draws a sharp breath in, as her heart beats a little faster. "Not even if I drive you crazy and I am a rubbish housewife," she teases.

"Not even if you drive me crazy and are a rubbish housewife," he repeats.

He has her face in his hands, as if she is the most precious thing on earth.

"You're my girl, princess. And I'm gonna love you no matter what," he tells her.

It's a promise he keeps for the rest of their lives.

* * *

 _The end._

 _It turned out a long and complicated story but I hope you enjoyed it!_


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